


In the name of Love

by Angelwingprincess



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I haven't written this much for anything in a while, No beta we post like men, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Spoilers, Worldbuilding, will likely continue for as long as inspiration holds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17289911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwingprincess/pseuds/Angelwingprincess
Summary: He made choices, in the name of his love. His actions brought her back to him, true, but the consequences are unexpected. Guilt consumes him as he helps her rebuild. Does he still deserve that place he once held at her side? He would give her his all, in the name of that love that she no longer remembers, if she asked. But he fears his choices made in this mad plan to bring her home have changed them both. (A blend of pre and post-revival interactions with Asra and my apprentice Deidre.)





	1. Valse de Notre Coeur

_If I told you this was only gonna hurt_  
_If I warned you that the fire's gonna burn_  
_Would you walk in?_  
_Would you let me do it first?_  
_Do it all in the name of love_  
_Would you let me lead you even when you're blind?_  
_In the darkness, in the middle of the night_  
_In the silence, when there's no one by your side_  
_Would you call in the name of love?_

_You bring me back to life_

_And it's **all** in the name of love_

-"In the name of Love" Bebe Rexha, Martin Garrix

* * *

 

 

 

**Valse de Notre Coeur**

 

_“Friend! Help!”_

 

He hears Faust whisper in his mind a single second before the screaming starts. There’s a crash as the jar he was holding falls to the floor, it and the contents completely ignored as he rushes to the stairs. The shop is dark, but he doesn’t stumble. He has long since become familiar walking within these walls. His feet take them two at a time but it still doesn’t feel fast enough as her screams echo through their home. He passes through the living space above the shop to the bedroom beyond, not bothering to pause at the doorway. His hands are already outstretched towards her, reaching for her body writhing among the sheets and pillows. His face is awash with worry, his lips little more than a thin line as he presses them together tightly.

 

The screaming pauses as she attempts to take a breath, but it will resume without intervention. They have been through this before. Yet every time he feels his heart break anew. He is lucky, that this nightmare is tamer than some before. Her magic has not yet lashed out, and he hopes he can keep it from doing so.

 

He picks her up from the bed, cradling her, halfway pulled into his lap as he sits among the strewn blankets. One arm slides around her shoulders to restrain her arms and the other moving so his hand is gently cupping the back of her head. He murmurs nonsense assurances as she screams into his shoulder. He holds her tightly to keep her movements to a minimum, lest she hurt herself. She has, in the past, clawed at her skin without restraint. He’s healed the scars, but he doesn’t want them to return.

 

He lets his head rest lightly on the top of her own, her midnight black hair at contrast to his own white locks. Hair that once held such volume with the care she gave it, now tangled and limp from the lack of brushing and oils. It’s shorter now. He’d had to cut it when she nearly strangled herself in her sleep. He reminds himself it will grow back.

 

He lets his magic flow through his fingertips, willing it to ease her nightmares and bring calm. The violet glow is soft in the dark room, illuminating Faust as she hangs above the bed. Her own worry echoes his own, her tongue flickering as she watches. His body rocks them, a movement remembered from a time in his own fleeting childhood; of a parent soothing away bad dreams with the sound of their voice and the safety of their arms. The motion is instinctual, but effective, as her movement slows.

 

Her screaming eases and her thrashing stops. He loosens his hold as she whimpers, no longer restraining and instead rubbing smoothly from shoulder to elbow, as though trying to warm her. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes against the guilt and the pain, wishing that he could do more. That he could prevent the nightmares from disturbing her rest at all.

 

He lets his magic taper off as she stills, letting her ease back into slumber. He leans down with her as he places her back on the bed. His hands cradle her body until it rests fully among their many blankets and pillows, trying to be as gentle as possible. He hovers, for just a moment, elbows set on either side of her head as he lets his forehead rest against hers. He listens to her breathe and tries to calm his own racing heart.

 

If the pattern follows, she will likely wake at least once more to the nightmares that haunt her. Though she will remember little of them when she wakes. He does his best to ease them. Trial and error has taught him that it is better not to wake her when she is in the midst of them, so he calms her as best he can and has Faust keep watch when he cannot. The suppressed memories haunt her in her dreams, showing her visions of a past she remembers nothing of upon waking. To wake her in the throes of such dreams leaves her confused and disoriented to such extremes that she no longer reacts to the present. The memories too much, stifling her and causing severe pain until he can ease them; until he makes her forget again.

 

He places a chaste kiss to her forehead before leaning back. A few strands of  the shoulder length hair are tangled over her face and he reaches out to brush them away. Her skin seems so pale now, compared to his memories. She looks as though she is ill, which he supposes she is in a sense. He knows that her rich copper skin will return once she is able to spend more time outside. But in the moment it is yet another thing changed, another thing lost.

 

He turns away and reaches for the blankets she had kicked to the bottom of their bed, pulling them back up and tucking them about her. Faust drops down from her hiding place, her familiar warmth surrounding his shoulders. He reaches up and scratches at her chin absent-mindedly. Her happiness at the touch transfers across their bond and he finds himself smiling at that simple act as he sits on the side of the bed. There are so many things he has done wrong, many more he will likely do, but at least he has the comfort of a friend and the knowledge that he will never be truly alone.

 

Not like she had been, in the end.

 

There is a touch, feather-light, on his free hand where it rests on his knee. He jumps, Faust tightening her coils in alarm as his eyes shoot to the hand now resting on his own. His eyes leap to her face, worry pounding through him as he finds her own eyes open. Her ice blue eyes are focused on him and he finds himself unable to look away. Her hand tightens on his, like she’s using it for a lifeline as she opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Her voice is rough, hoarse from her earlier screams, when she finally speaks.

 

“I know you.”

 

It’s like a blow to the gut, a hope he has sheltered in his heart and tried desperately to crush. The words something he has longed for each time they have tried, without success, to return her memories. So close, too close. He wants so much for those words to be true. And yet... He has faced the consequences each time and determined that no more. He will take what she can give. He will not hurt her further. They can make new memories, to replace those she has lost.

 

But still the hope has lingered.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t go. You always go.” She says softly, squinting in concentration. It’s as if she has to struggle to stay focused as the words slip free. Confusion fills him, and worry, because _this_ has not happened before. He turns his hand over, lacing his fingers with hers.

 

“I’m right here, Deidre. I’m not going anywhere.” He insists, voice barely a whisper.

 

She shakes her head slowly, eyes losing focus. She stares at him, but no longer seems to actually _see_ him. His hand tightens around hers, a lump forming in his throat.

 

“You left... I missed you…” She breathes deep, resignation in her voice. “But you didn't come back.” She closes her eyes, her voice fading at the end, and it suddenly comes together. She is still dreaming. Dreaming of the past. _Their_ past.

 

“I came back, love.” He whispers, eyes watering and chest tight. He squeezes her hand tightly, a thousand apologies replaying in his head. Every one of them spoken since his return, and every one of them unanswered. “I came back… I was just too late.”

 

She doesn't respond back, and he doesn't expect her to. Guilt fills him; a wave of regret that threatens to drown him. A wave he would gladly let wash him away if only it would give her back everything she has lost.

 

Faust nudges his face with her head, wrapping around his arm in an attempt to comfort. His attention leaves Deidre’s face, relaxed now that she has drifted into a more peaceful slumber. Their hands, still intertwined, brings a rush of memories when such a thing was commonplace between them. He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles as the tears start. He wants nothing more than to wake her, reassure her that he will never leave her again if she will only get better. To apologize for leaving in the first place, and for so many things since.

 

(But… He knows that upon waking she will have no recollection of this night. Or that of the last six years.)

 

So, reluctantly, he forces himself to let go of her hand. Faust slides down his arm as he rises, settling onto Deidre's chest. A spot she has favored these long months as they have worked to help Deidre heal. As though she, like Asra himself, has to hear her heart beat to remind them that she is alive.

 

“ _Faust watch. Safe._ ”

 

He wipes at his eyes and gives a wobbling smile to his familiar. “I leave her in your expert care. I've a mess to clean, anyway.” He pauses long enough to give another scratch to the serpent in thanks before he turns from the room. He breathes deep and tries to blink back the tears that threaten to fall. He has cried enough. And really, she is alive and with good meals and exercise will be healthy once more. He should be _happy_.

 

He makes it halfway down the stairs before the dam breaks. He leans with one arm against the wall, the other over his mouth to muffle the sobs, as the tears fall in earnest. He squeezes his eyes shut to try and stem the flow but knows it's a useless endeavor. His heart **_aches_ ** , at this hallow version of herself that she has become. Her body is returned, but her mind has not. So many of the things that made her, _her_ , may never return except in her nightmares and his own fading memories.

 

He has regretted leaving her that day, almost since the moment his feet touched the boat. A stupid fight with harsh words that he longs to take back. A goodbye given in anger, that he had not expected to be their final parting. He stayed away, out of anger and pride. And what did it win him? He returned to find her gone, to find the brightest light in his life snuffed. A hole in the world where joy had once been.

 

He had gotten her back, true. But the cost was much steeper than he had first realized. He thought he alone would bear the price for this, that she would return just as she had been before it all. How foolish he was. How foolish he _is_.

 

(He would do it again, if it was the only way to bring her **home**.)

 

He gives in. Lets his despair take the reins during this quiet moment in the night. Lets the tears wash away the ache of what he’s done. When morning comes, he will piece himself back together.

 

For her.

  
  


_6 years ago_

 

He set up his place behind the magic shop near the main stretch of the canal. With the Masquerade traffic and the shops popularity, he might be able to persuade a few customers to veer his way. He’s checked, and though the shop sells all manner of magical items and potions, they have no one providing services like his own. Just in case fortunes aren't enough, he tried his hand at making a few masks and figures for the celebration. Though his whittling is less refined than Muriel’s, the figures should do well enough. Muriel, thankfully, took pity on him and made the masks himself to add when his first several attempts ended poorly. All together, he should be able to get some decent coin to last them.

 

He calls out to passerby, gestures bold and smile broad. Faust hides in his shirt, out of sight of and safe from the close quartered crowds that bump and shove their way through the narrow pathways. He sees the older woman who owns the shop once, a couple hours in, and waves sheepishly. When she doesn't demand he move, he considers it a small victory. Nonetheless he gives her shop recommendation to those few customers who grace his stall, as thanks. He doesn’t want her to change her mind, should she think him poaching customers as competition instead.

 

“ _Sneaky._ ”

 

Asra turns at Faust's whisper in his thoughts, concerned. Yet he sees nothing other than the rush of people. His confusion must translate to the light amethyst serpent because she responds a moment later, peeking her head out from the back of his shirt.

 

“ _Climb._ ”

 

He turns around at her mental nudging and looks up, spotting a figure exiting out of the upstairs window of the magic shop. Long black hair trails down to their waist, obscuring much of their features. He debates calling out to Miss Alanna (what cause would someone have to exit such a way if not for some devious purpose), just as they turn and drop onto the overhanging roof. Shades of blue and violet cloth flutter with the movement as they settle, revealing a petite feminine figure.

 

He can't look away as the young woman stands and meets his stare. Her eyes look almost silver as she grins at him. He finds it disconcerting, the feral way she looks at him, bringing to mind the old saying of the ‘cat that ate the canary’. She shoves some of her thick, wavy black hair over her shoulder and bends her knees. Her body is tilted forward, and though her legs are hidden by her skirt he could swear it looks as though she was about to run...

 

“Don't let me fall!” she calls to him, seconds before she takes a running leap off the roof edge towards him.

 

“Wait! No! I don't—” He gets no chance to really protest as she soars over the several foot gap between the roof and the fence line. He holds his arms out on instinct, just in time for her body to collide with him. Her arms latch around his neck, his arms wrapping around her hips tightly as he tries to keep from falling. He steps back once, twice, before his feet and sense of balance fail him. He has just enough time to realize Faust is no longer in his shirt before his back hits the ground.

 

His breath goes out him in a rush as her full weight hits him. He winces, eyes closing on reflex. Her laughter sounds in his ears, bright and airy. _Like starlight_ , he thinks as spots dance behind his eyelids. Opening his eyes to find her face inches from his own. This close, he can see her eyes are more of a very pale blue than a silver or grey. A feature that stands out against her dark hair and tanned copper skin.

 

“You caught me!” She laughs, her eyes dancing with mischief. Her tone makes it sound as though she hadn't been sure he would. Yet, she had ran at him in what appeared full confidence.

 

“In a manner of speaking, I guess I did.” He responds, unable to keep a smile from his lips as he does. Her laughter is infectious. “We did end up falling anyway.”

 

She laughs again, pushing herself up and holding out her hand. He takes it, letting her help him to his feet. “If you hang around here often, you might find yourself falling for me again, then.” She teases. He feels his face heat from the double meaning, turning to look back at the shop to avoid her gaze. He dusts of his pants and clears his throat.

 

“Am I allowed to ask _why_ you are escaping from the second floor of Miss Alanna’s shop?”

 

His curiosity is certainly piqued, and his afternoon much more lively than he'd anticipated. When he turns back, a few passersby eye them with interest before the continue on through the crowd. His need to pull in customers is temporarily forgotten as he faces her again. She smiles at him, laughter replaced with a sheepish smile. She holds onto one arm, self conscious almost, at his query.

 

“I suppose it's only fair.” She pushes her hair back over her shoulders, glancing at the shop as though for reassurance. The black waves settle behind her, flowing loose to her hips. He tries, and fails, not to stare. “I'm visiting Vesuvia and staying with my Aunt. But she apparently thinks I shouldn't go out during the Masquerade. I disagreed. As far as she's aware, I've locked myself in the bedroom to sulk.”

 

He can't help it. He laughs, shaking his head. “So you snuck out, and jumped right into the arms of the first stranger you see? I can see why she would be worried!” He crosses his arms, unable and unwilling to keep the grin from his face.

 

She frowns at him, hands on her hips as she glares up at him. The expression makes her nose crinkle, something he can't help but find adorable instead of intimidating. His grin widens, egging her on.

 

“It sounds bad when you say it _that_ way.” She huffs. She opens her mouth to say something more when her expression changes, eyes widening in excitement instead. “Oh!” She exclaims, hands falling from her hips as one raises to cover her mouth in awe. “Is that yours?”

 

She gestures to his shoulder, where Faust has returned, dropping back into her favorite place from wherever she had hidden. He’s so used to her coming and goings that he had barely noticed her return. Lucky, that neither she nor his wares had been hurt.  

 

“ _Sneaky! Fun!_ ”

 

He chuckles at her exclamation, words only he can hear. Certainly a true statement, from his ever perceptive familiar. He reaches out a finger and pets her lightly on the head. The serpent presses into the touch, happiness humming across their bond. “Of a sort. We are each other's. Her name is Faust.”

 

The young woman gives a wordless noise of approval, reaching out her hand gently before looking at him for assurance. At his nod, she reaches over and scratches gently under the serpent's chin. Faust flicks her tongue, her thoughts filled with approval.

 

“She's gorgeous.” She says with awe. She catches his eye and grins, the mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “Almost as gorgeous as her partner.”

 

He feels the warmth rush his cheeks and coughs to hide his embarrassment. He's flirted before, sure. But it's quite another for someone he finds attractive to flirt at him instead. If this is the game she plans to play, he would be more than a bystander.

 

“Like calls to like. You've certainly a trail of broken hearts all your own, I’m sure. Little wonder I couldn't help but catch you.” He lets the last sentence end on a whisper, reaching to tuck some of her wayward hair back over her shoulder. He feels her tense, pulling back before he makes her uncomfortable. He grins when a tell-tale blush darkens her cheeks as he straightens. The change brings out the freckles dotting along her nose and under her eyes, something he had previously overlooked.

 

They stare at each other for a moment in silence before they both burst into laughter. He leans back, hand sliding into his hair as he tries to catch his breath. He looks down at her as she steps into his space, her eyes shining with mirth. Her lips, which seem stained with a coral color, draw his eyes as she smiles. She pokes him in his chest lightly with laughter still in her voice, “Oh, I like _you_. You're fun.”

 

His chest feels warm at the compliment. He pulls his gaze from her mouth to look into her eyes. He is several inches taller than her, he notices for the first time. “The feelings mutual, miss…?” He asks, because he has to know, with her wild hair and a laugh like starlight. A name for this face that will likely haunt his dreams.

 

“Deidre.” She whispers, hand pressing flat against his chest. “No ‘miss’. Just Deidre.” Her smile this time is sweet, honest. Later, he'll count this as his first step towards the inevitable fall. That cliff he unknowingly tripped over, just to land in her arms. But now, now he just offers his name in return and takes her hand from his chest to brush his lips across her knuckles.

 

“Asra, at your service.”

  
  


_Present_

 

He cleans up his mess, shards of glass nicking his fingers as he throws them away. All traces of the dropped potion in progress are washed away within moments. He gathers the ingredients, another bottle, and mixes it once more. A simple brew to stave off pain in small doses, for stiff joints in the colder months to come. It’s popular, where they are in a coastal city where the breeze from the ocean makes the nights fearsome.

She does stir once more in the night. The screams do not return, but he finds his way up the stairs and to the bedside when Faust calls. She mumbles, incoherent words as her head tosses back and forth. He pulls a chair to the bedside, hand reaching for hers before he can stop himself. It is a gesture he has done before. Before, when their lives were simpler and a misadventure in the rain found her restricted to blankets and pillows instead of joining him outdoors. The memory is bittersweet. But her hand tightens around his and he lets himself pretend, for just a moment.

 

_“Oh, don’t look at me so, Asra!” She whines, coughing into her hand and voice rough. He stumbles to get her a handkerchief, only for her to wave him off. Her eyes look more gray than blue, her fever dulling her edges in a way that he has never seen before. Her Aunt has properly chastised him of their foolishness the day before, and guilt eats heavy at him as he falls into the chair at the bedside._

 

_“It’s only a cold. It’ll pass in a few days.” She continues when the coughing finally subsides._

 

 _“You’ve never been sick before. Your aunt_ _—_ _”_

 _Deidre holds her hand up and glares at him, nose wrinkling as she frowns. “My_ **_aunt_ ** _is overreacting. I’ll admit I rarely get ill, but a cold is certainly not your fault.” He makes a noise, disagreeing. “Besides, it was my idea. I’d have done it anyway. This way, you were there to catch me.”_

 

_He reaches for her hand, where is rests on the covers. She smiles at him and laces her fingers with his. His lips turn up in return and he sighs, “Just like always.” She laughs, the small giggles raspy from her sore throat. Despite the situation, her laughter brightens the room and his earlier fears fade._

 

_Her aunt’s voice echoes from below as she calls to Asra, some customer needing his help. He’s loathe to go but she shoos him away. He hesitates at the door, turning as Miss Alanna yells for him again. A blur hits the wall next to his head, a pillow falling at his feet. Deidre lifts another and aims it at him, trying to frown at him even as laughter makes her shoulders shake. He grins, dodging her next throw and blowing her an exaggerated kiss as he ducks out the doorway. His last view before he leaves the room is of her sticking out her tongue in retaliation._

 

He wakes to humming, a gentle noise above his head. The tune is familiar and tugs at the edges of his memory as sleep fades away. He tries to grasp it, that sound, but it slips from his fingers just like his dreams. The humming stops and turns inquisitive. A hand touches his hair and pulls him fully from slumber as his mind catches up with the present. His eyes open in a rush, but he takes care to lift his head gently from the bedside. The hand in his hair falls away as he does, finding its place among the blankets.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She whispers, voice soft and hesitant over the words. She’s getting better, each day, but with the dream still fresh in his mind the differences are stark. Her innate confidence is missing from her voice. He hopes that, one day, it will return.

 

“That’s alright. I woke up on my own, no need to fret.” He smiles, patting her hand gently as he rises to stretch. She presses her lips together and nods. Her hands fidget atop the blankets, a habit she has always had for as long as he’s known her. She’s about to say, or ask, something she doesn’t think he’s going to like. He takes a deep breath and tries to make his voice as soothing as possible.

 

“Is something that matter?” He prods gently. Faust slithers into her lap and Deidre’s hands shifting to stroke the serpent instead of tug at the blankets edges.

 

“You… you need to… to take better care of yourself.” She has to pause, her voice shaking from disuse. Each time she does her face pinches in frustration, her thoughts faster than her lips at forming her words. She looks at him fully, her eyes like steel with a stubbornness he has not seen in a long time. It takes him aback, eyes widening as she pins him with that glare.

 

She takes his silence as permission to continue. She breathes deep through her nose in preparation before loosing her next words like arrows. “I know that… I- I make things… hard. But- but… you have to rest too.”

 

He swallows, mouth dry at her implications. He steps back to the bed, hesitant, his hands clenching in uncertainty for where to place them. “Deidre…” There is guilt behind her stare, under the concern she has for him. Though it’s true that he loses sleep or worries over her condition, he does not consider her at fault for any of it. He would never want her to believe he resents taking care of her in her time of need.

 

(Though the concern in her eyes stifles him. Since waking she has trusted him implicitly, something he has hoped, _wished_ , **_wanted_ **, to be because some part of her remembers him. But she has always been caring; it is her nature.)

 

“Deidre…” He repeats, sitting on the edge of the bed and foregoing the chair. He reaches for one of the hands currently on Faust and wraps it in both of his. “I am fine. Perhaps I work too much because I cannot stand to sit still for too long, but never have I thought taking care of you to be anything more than a gift.” He searches for the words, trying to assure her without triggering her memories. He cannot speak of their past, not in detail, and he does not wish to push something onto her that she may no longer want.

 

He’s had to accept that as well, that she may not grow to feel as she once did for him.

 

“You are very… important to us.” He says, looking into her eyes and pleading she understand even a little of what he is saying. “We were friends before, good friends. And friends take care of each other.” He gives her a gentle smile, setting her hand back in her lap and giving it a light pat.

 

“Now, why don’t I fix us something to eat, hmm? I’m sure we’ll both feel better after breakfast!”

 

He makes to stand, pushing off from the bed, only for her hand to grip his wrist and tug him back down. Even after she has him sitting once more she refuses to let go, the steel in her eyes daring him to argue as she points forcefully with her free hand to the bed. “Rest.” She tells him, in a tone that brokers no argument. Faust, the little betrayer, seems to laugh at him in his mind as she slithers off Deidre’s lap to climb up on the woman’s shoulders. The small purple face peeking from the depths of her dark hair is almost comical.

 

He tugs, lightly, at her grip. When she only tightens her fingers he makes a show of an exaggerated sigh. His free hand waves in the air as he gives a breathy chuckle. “Alright, alright. A lazy morning it is then.” She beams at him, her smile bright and unrestrained with her teeth showing. The sight alone is almost worth his giving in. His heart thrums in his chest with the sight of her obvious pleasure and he determines he would never get up from the bed at all if he could make her smile like that again.

 

She moves, sliding over to give him more room and releasing his wrist. He reaches to help her, knowing her legs are still stiff and slow to react but she merely smacks his hands away, intent on doing it herself. He laughs through his nose and holds his hands up in mock defeat, until she is settled in the way she wants. She points to the bed with emphasis, as though he has forgotten what he should be doing, and he rolls his eyes before turning and laying back on the bed.

 

(Once he might have just lain next to her and pulled her close, or rested his head on her chest. He no longer has that right and his heart aches behind the happiness.)

 

He places his hands on his chest, lacing his fingers and letting his feet cross at the ankles. He’s comfortable enough, and they have shared the bed before since… well, since she returned. But he knows that rest will not come to him easily. His own dreams are haunted by memories, as well.

 

He hears her move as she seems to try and get comfortable herself. He doubts she wishes to fall back to slumber, having already been awake, but with her body still relearning its motions she cannot do much without his help. The melody from before, as he was waking, lingers on the edge of his thoughts and gives him an idea to occupy her. For a moment, anyway.

 

(And maybe he’s a bit selfish and wants her voice to chase him into his dreams, where he can imagine she sings once more in full flourish.)

 

“Hmmm…. The tune you were humming before… Care to serenade me to sleep, Deidre?” He peeks over at her with a grin, catching the darkening of her cheeks before he closes his eyes. “I liked it.”

 

He imagines she probably rolls her eyes at him, maybe even sticks her tongue out at him, but he keeps his eyes shut. It’s light at first, as she tries to find the tune again, yet in seconds it rises and her gentle humming fills his senses. He smiles as he listens and lets his body relax. It is still achingly familiar.

 

In his mind's eye he lets the song flow over him. As it does it brings with it the memory, what feels so long ago. His dreams pull at him as her gentle voice lulls him to sleep. He knows now, why this is familiar. A song she should not know, but somehow still does.

 

The waltz of their first Masquerade.

  


_6 years ago_

 

He waits for her, hours after she slips from his stall to seek out the enchantments of the Masquerade. He passes the time with his readings, even managing to sell two of his masks and a handful of figures. In between customers his eyes wander the crowd. He searches for a glimpse of her long black hair, or her gray-blue stare. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first, until an older gentleman comments on his actions during a reading.

 

“Someone caught yer eye, hmm?” The old man says with a laugh. Asra jerks his head back to the cards, realizing that he has already turned over his choice of card with a wince.

 

“Ah, my apologies.” He mumbles, reaching for the card to let it speak through him. The six of cups stares up from the card, his own hand having painted its vivid visage. The voice whispers softly in his thoughts, “You have been lost to your nostalgia in recent past. While happy memories are good to reflect on you must not forget to keep with your present. Instead of thinking on what you’ve lost, help another to carry your old torch.”

 

He finishes with a smile, placing the card back into his deck and collecting the unused cards. Not a particularly hard reading but he hopes it was enough to satisfy. The old man gives a dry chuckle and offers payment. “Good advice that, magic or no’. Whoever yer looking for, don’t wait forever now, ya hear?” The old man nods and weaves back out into the foot traffic on the street.

 

He feels his face heat with the parting words. He does not need to chase after a girl he has only just met. Besides, she’ll have to come back this way to go home unless she wants to face her aunt’s wrath for sneaking away.

 

Still, he’s more careful and takes more care to not let his attention wander when a customer visits the stall. As the heat of being out in sun for the day bears down on him he rolls up his sleeves and wonders if he should take a break. Faust has abandoned her spot inside his shirt to soak up the sun on the now empty place where the few figures he brought once occupied. For the first day of the Masquerade he feels he’s done fairly well. He’ll have to talk Muriel into making more masks, since those sold the best.

 

He stretches his arms above his head and lets out a groan as his shoulders pop. The release of tension he didn’t know he’d had feels like a glorious. A chilled breeze seems to rush by as he brings his arms back down, the sudden wind tickling at his hair and tugging at his favorite scarf. It makes his skin prickle from the change in temperature but it feels so good after hours spent in the sun that he doesn’t question it. At least until his own magic responds in kind, reaching for the lingering tendrils wrapped around the spell that brought the breeze to life. His eyes snap open at the realization, narrowing in suspicion.

 

His own magic brushes against it, sensing the intent and trying to find the caster. Something he might not have bothered doing, as the sound of her laugh sounds through his thoughts before she steps out of the crowd and leans her elbows on his display. “You looked hot.” She says with a grin, as if that explains everything. Her right hand reaches for Faust, who flicks her tongue over her knuckles to smell her scent. He notices a change, that her hair is now away from her face and held with a bright, sheer, purple scarf tied atop her head. It shimmers as she moves, the small, pressed, silver coins shining in the fading sunlight where they hang from the fabric.

 

“Having any fun?” He asks, realizing that he’s been staring at her in silence. He watches as she stops her ministrations of petting Faust’s chin to smile up at him. Her eyes are dancing, what little daylight there is left making them sparkle like some rare jewel.

 

“Oh! Very much so!” Her voice is almost breathless as she answers. “It’s all so… so _—_ ”

 

“So-so? Very descriptive.” He teases as she stumbles for words. She frowns, huffing as she reaches out to half-heartedly swat at him. He dances to the side, using the divider between them as a buffer and lets out a laugh.

 

“Oh, _you_!” She sticks out her tongue at him even as the eager excitement shines in her eyes.

 

“Sorry! Sorry!” He can’t keep the laughter from still sounding in his voice, but he holds his hands up in an effort to show his sincerity. He moves back closer, leaning on the other side so that their elbows are almost touching. “This is your first Masquerade, right?”

 

She nods. The movement rattles the small coins in her new scarf and they make a gentle tinkling sound that he can barely hear over the normal bustle of the street. “It’s been… amazing. There’s just so much to _see_.” The way she sighs with the last word sounds bittersweet. “I’ll never be able to see it all before I leave.”

 

With a shock, he realizes that when she had mentioned visiting her Aunt, she never indicated staying. His surprise must show on his face because she gives a sad laugh. “I leave tomorrow morning to go back to my parents.” She looks away from him as he says it, focusing on Faust, who has become just as taken with their new friend as Asra himself. The snake accepts her pets before she shifts and begins to climb Deidre’s arm.

 

“ _New friend sad_ .” He hears in his mind, part of him in shock as he watches. “ _Make better. Squeeze!”_

 

The last hums through his thoughts as Faust reaches Deidre’s shoulders and tightens about them. Deidre gives a little gasp, while he can do nothing but stare. Faust has always been friendly, but there are few people whom she’ll readily climb upon. He hesitates, body tight as he waits for her reaction.

 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when she gives a soft smile and looks at him in wonder. “It’s like getting a hug!” She whispers, as though it’s some grand secret between just the two of them. He laughs, just as quiet, almost nothing more than a huff of air.

 

“That’s… That’s exactly what it is.” A little of the surprise and awe he feels leaks into his tone. “She wanted to cheer you up.”

 

For some reason he can’t speak more than a whisper himself.

 

Her smile broadens and his heart jumps as she lets her cheek brush against Faust’s head. The pale serpent lets her tongue flicker against Deidre’s skin before nuzzling her back. He watches them for another moment, completely entranced. He’s struck with the urge to put charcoal to paper, just to capture the image forever.

 

“Deidre!”

 

The voice cuts through like lightning and they all jump, the three of them. It comes from the front of the shop, and the source is immediately obvious by Deidre’s wince if nothing else. Miss Alanna’s voice raises as she calls her name again. He can hear frustration and anger in her tone. It takes him but a moment to make a decision. He puts a finger to his lips just as Deidre would speak and begins stuffing what’s left of the figures and his things into his bag. He steps quickly from behind the small wooden set-up and he reaches for her hand. With a wink and a gesture of his head he indicates moving away before they can be found. When she gives him that devious grin from the rooftop and grasps his hand, he can swear his heart stops.

 

Her aunt’s voice carries behind them. She doesn't sound distraught, or else maybe he would feel guilty. Instead, he leads Deidre down an empty alleyway that passes in between two other shops on the street. Her hand is tight around his own as they emerge in the rush of foot traffic heading to the town square. Once the sun sets, there will be music and dancing in the square with people lining up on the bridge for the fireworks that go off at the end of the night. It gives them plenty of cover to slip away unnoticed.

 

He looks behind him with a grin, eyes narrowed with mischief. “Stay close, so we don't get separated.” He gives a little tug on her hand in his to pull her forward once she gives a nod in affirmation. As they move forward he feels Faust give off waves of excitement where she still sits upon Deidre's shoulders.

 

“ _Sneaky!”_

 

He's used to maneuvering through these crowds. His body instinctively turns and twists into places to pull them through. He jumps when the second time he squeezes between a group she grabs the back of his shirt with her free hand. She gives a sheepish smile and shrugs, not trying to speak over the noise. His face heats as he nods and turns back, but he's keenly aware of the warmth of her at his back as he works toward their destination.

 

The sun is almost fully set when they finally make it to the town square. There's more room to breathe here, but still just as many people. The hanging lantern and street lamps have already been lit as the shadows lengthen with the coming night. He stops in an alcove between two buildings, enough so they can be out of the way for others but still have full view of the square itself.

 

Faust takes the chance before Deidre pulls away to slip from her shoulders to Asra's. Her familiar weight is welcome as he turns around to face this girl who jumps from roofs into strangers arms and laughs like something wild and shining.

 

“She's going to be _so_ mad later.”

 

He feels like a lump settles in his stomach. Maybe he was too forward? But when he looks at her face she's looking at him as a co-conspirator, with laughter in her eyes and that grin that makes him think nothing but trouble will be found in her company.

 

(He doesn't mind a little trouble, he thinks.)

 

“Well, couldn't let you spend your only night of the masquerade without getting to see the best parts.” He gestures to where a set of musicians are setting up on the other end. Her eyes grow wide with wonder as she looks, placing a hand on his shoulder as she stands on tiptoes to see.

 

Many people are wearing masks, and many more are dressed in all sorts of costumes. The suns last rays leaving the cobblestones are the apparent signal and the band begins to play. The sound echoes around them, a happy tune that everyone can find rhythm to. He grasps her hand from his shoulder, bringing it up in the air as he moves to face her. She goes back onto the soles of her feet as he does. Her expression is one of wary curiosity as he smiles. He lets his body fall into a half bow, free arm out with the hand pointed palm up, eyes staying trained on hers and keeping her hand aloft.

 

“Would you care to dance?”

 

The sounds of children laughing and feet tapping on the stones echo just below the sound of music. She tilts her head at him and looks him up and down. It feels, oddly, as though he is suddenly being inspected.

 

“I don't know many Vesuvian dances.”

 

It's not a no. And he can swear there's restrained laughter in her voice.

 

“Just follow my lead, and I'll keep you on your feet.”

 

She breathes a laugh at him then and steps closer, their raised hands between them as he raises to stand fully once more. “Then lead away.”

 

Faust escapes from his shoulders as they move closer to the music, off to find somewhere to nap away from the chaos. It’s very likely she may head off to find Muriel, so he doesn’t worry as he feels her go. Instead he lets himself get swept up in the music and pulls Deidre with him. Her skirt flutters around them as she follows his steps. Their hands release as they move, only to search each other out again when the steps bring them back together. His feet barely feel as though they’re touching the ground. Despite her originals declaration, she keeps up with him so well that it’s almost as though they had practiced. Couples and families surround them, each dancing in no particular method. Down in the town, away from the palace, everyone just lets their bodies move to music without care.

 

As she spins back to him, hair lifting behind her, he holds his hands out. Her own slide into his seamlessly. She’s laughing and he can’t stop grinning and there’s a part of him that wants this to never end. He steps to the left, she to his right, and then they dance back and exchange places. Their hands raise above their heads each time they step in and to the side, their shoulders brushing in the briefest of touches. He spins so that her arms wrap around herself as he keeps hold of her hands, then lifts his arm so she twirl under it and face him once more. The song reaches its end just as they step close once more, this time instead of to the side they move so that their chests are nearly touching with their hands still clasped together at their sides.

 

Her smile is breathless, as is his, as they try to catch their breath. Clapping is heard around them and when he finally manages to pull his eyes from hers, he notices that the small crowd around them had apparently stopped to watch. He laughs, letting go of one of Deidre’s hands so he can pull her forward. He gives a slightly exaggerated bow to the audience. Deidre does the same, her body bending next to his and her curtain of hair falling about her shoulders in the corner of his vision.

 

As the both stand fully a commotion at the entrance of the street gains their attention. People are clamoring out of the way as a carriage pulls along, delicately but extravagantly decorated. He tugs on the hand he still holds to pull Deidre with him to the side, out of the way of hooves and wheels.

 

“Make way! Princess Nadia of Praka!”

 

Ah, yes. The princess come to wed the count. He’d nearly forgotten she was to arrive today as well. Deidre leans on him as the carriage pulls by, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman inside. The curtain pulls back from the window just as it travels by, a beautiful face peeking through to the city beyond. He feels Deidre tense before she gives an excited wave. The face in the window smiles, seemingly amused by the sight, and gives a brief wave back at them before she, and the carriage, travels out of sight.

 

He hears her gasp and then she’s shaking his arm. “She waved! Did you see?!” She almost squeals. He chuckles, shaking his head before looking at her as she hangs from his arm.

 

“Yes, I did see.”

 

“I can’t believe she waved at me! She was so beautiful. Wasn’t she?”

 

“Yes.”

 

As the crowd comes back to life and fills in the gaps they had made, she watches where the carriage had exited with awe. She still holds to his arm, hand held in his, and it makes his pulse race. He takes the moment while she’s distracted to take in her appearance, hair frizzed from their exertion and the scarf she’d tied it back with slipping loose. She sighs and he can feel her breathe as she leans closer. Her whole body presses against him as she leans her head on his shoulder.

 

“I think, this may be the best day of my life. Thank you, Asra.”

 

He leans his head against her own and chuckles. “The night’s not over yet. Come on.”

 

He steps forward and pulls her with him as he eases around the crowd and towards the exit the carriage passed through earlier. She follows him, her trust in him both confusing and pleasing as he leads her towards the palace. All of the city is welcome onto the grounds during the festivities, but most of those going inside have long since entered. The bridge is nearly empty when they stand upon it, the palace lit up on the other side and the music from the ballroom echoing even out here, magically enhanced of course.

 

She breathes deep and looks at it all in wonder. She lets go of his hand to step to the railing, her silhouette striking amongst the backdrop. It makes him see Vesuvia, this town he’s lived in for so long, in a new light. The beauty of the palace is truly breathtaking before them and even more so when what he brought her this way begins.

 

Deeper dark has set in, the sun long gone and the stars shining above them. A pop, loud and high above them, sounds. She gives a gasp, jumping back and bumping into his chest. He places his hands on her shoulders, steadying her and whispers lightly in her ear, “Look up.”

 

She does, the lights shimmering around them. A mix of alchemy and magic, fireworks bloom above them. Bright colors and shapes take form, along with the pops, cracks, and sizzling as they go off sounding in the air around them. Her mouth opens as she watches. She’s unable to tear her eyes away from the display.

 

(And he cannot tear his eyes away from her, the way the lights reflect in her eyes.)

 

The music in the palace raises to be heard over the spectacle before them. She turns, with a smile so soft that his heart twists in his chest. As a waltz begins, she steps back and dips into a half curtsy. He laughs through his nose, grinning as he catches her intent. He takes her outstretched hand when she offers it. She holds her skirt in one hand, to keep her legs free, intertwined with her fingers as her hand lays in his. Her other hand rests on his arm, while his finds place on her waist. Slowly, their feet begin to move. Their bodies sway to the music as the waltz plays, the lights dancing and changing around them. In a stroke of inspiration, Asra lets his magic wash over them both. He directs it with a thought, their clothes changing shape to match the finery he’s seen from those in the palace. Lush, rich fabrics with bright colors and bold designs replace their normal attire.

 

For himself, he selects a deep lavender and gold. The coat hangs down about his legs, drifting as the move, with the sleeves ending at his elbow with the fabric hanging onwards like a trail. The shirt underneath is white and peeks from the edges of the coat in his center where it hangs open if not for three buttons holding it in place. His collar of the coat and the edges of the loose ends of the sleeves are trimmed in gold, matching the scarf tied about his waist as a belt before the lavender color continues in his pants.

 

For her, he selects shades of blue. From midnight to azure to a powder, the edges tipped in silver. The top has gaps in the fabric for her shoulders to peek through before the sleeves continue down to just past her elbow, bunching and then becoming sheer as it drapes from her arm to her waist. The fabric from the top continues, like a dress, cascading down to her feet with ruffled edges at her waist to give the deception of separate pieces.. There is a deep split, just off center, that shows her legs clad in tight, silken pants in a light powder blue, almost white. The dress itself fades from the midnight color, to azure at her waist, to the same light, pale shade at her calves. Silver embroidery edges the ends of the fabric, with embroidered designs on the pants in a flowering pattern. Small white gems dot the fabric with silver thread about them, making it appear as though she is clad in literal starlight. A sheer midnight blue scarf hangs about her waist and around her back, draping finally over her arm and into her hand. A matching one replaces the scarf she’d had in her hair, equally dotted in silver thread and sparkling decor.

 

She gives a little gasp as the magic washes over them, the faint purple shimmer surrounding them until the glamours are in place. That airy, tinkling, laugh that had prompted his choice in her attire makes its way from her throat. He doesn’t stop his stride, leading her about the bridge as though it is a dance floor.

 

“Thought maybe we should dress for the occasion.” He teases, letting her twirl away from him just to pull her back in with their joined hands. She catches a glimpse of herself in the water as they pass the edge and he can’t keep his smile from growing at the awe he sees on her face.

 

“It’s beautiful.” She whispers. She peeks up at him from behind her eyelashes. A blush deepens the color in her cheeks and her hand tightens for a moment on his arm before easing once more. “Like I’m dressed as the night sky itself.” She admits with a giggle.

 

They’re silent for a bit after that, dancing to the music and just letting their bodies move to the steps. The first waltz ends and another begins, the pace a bit faster than the first. The sounds of the city fade as they let their feet fall upon the stone. They move in sync without needing to try; forward, back. Turn, twirl. Advance, retreat. It’s only when the fireworks stop that they finally cease movement. Their hands are less than an inch apart on the railing of the bridge as they look at the water below. He’s got no clue the time, but he knows it’s late. The partying will last well into the morning but her aunt will be worrying now, if she wasn’t already before.

 

“We should get you home.” He says at last. She leans forward, letting her magic flow from her fingers as he watches. Pale cerulean coats her fingertips as she traces their reflections with small, bright stars just above the water. They sit for a moment before she releases a breath and they fade away.

 

She pushes back from the rail and he follows, offering his arm with a faint turn of his lips. Her expression is wistful, a little sad but she takes it and nods. Her arm loops through his, resting in the juncture of his elbow. He lets the glamour on their outfits fade as they leave the bridge. She shivers as his magic falls away, but says nothing.

 

Music still plays in the square as they move through and beyond. She watches the other people dance and laugh, children and adults alike enjoying themselves. They’re in an alley, just a few minutes walk from the shop, when she finally speaks.

 

“Where’d Faust go? Is she going to be okay on her own?”

 

She sounds genuinely curious and concerned. It takes him aback for a moment. He blinks then gives a soft laugh. “Ah, she’s fine. She probably went home or to find something to eat.” He shakes his head and runs his free hand through his white hair. “I’d know if something happened to her, so I don’t worry too much.”

 

She gives a hum of acknowledgement. They round the corner and the shop comes into view, the lantern on the outside still burning. She stops, her arm dropping from his, just across the street from the front door. He’s caught off guard as she spins, going up on tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands go out to his sides to catch his balance before he catches on to what she’s doing. She tightens her hold and he lets his own arms wrap around her waist, his face pressed into the dark waves of her hair. He gives in to the selfish urge to inhale, taking in her scent that he had tried not to notice before. He doesn’t know which is just her or which scents are Vesuvia collected about her; ocean air and spices, something light and floral, the light tang of sweat from their dancing.

 

She eases away and he lets his hands fall from her waist. “Thank you, again.” She laughs quietly. He shakes his head and shrugs.

 

“What for?”

 

She shrugs and takes a step back. “For following the whims of a stranger. For catching me from a rooftop.” She laughs, a quick sharp sound, “And for making this a night I’ll never forget.”

 

He feels his blush rising and rubs the back of his neck in self consciousness. “Ah, right.” He chuckles. “Hard to say no to someone as beautiful as you.” He tries to tease, to lighten the moment. It works and she shakes her head at him, eyes rolling. When she looks back at him, her arms are crossed. The rush of the day settles around them. The silence a tangible thing as they both linger instead of returning to their homes. She opens her mouth, closes it, frowns. She uncrosses her arms, one hand resting on her heart as she looks up at him with her face a mixture of sadness and wistfulness.

 

“Save me a dance at the next masquerade?”

 

He gives her a small, genuine smile. He reaches for her free hand and takes it lightly in his own. A brief squeeze before he lets go, a riot of emotions playing in his gut. “Of course. Don’t keep me waiting.”

 

She smiles in return and takes one, two, three steps backward before she turns to face the shop and enter the door. He watches her until she’s out of sight. Muriel would chide him, he knows. He knows better after their years as children in Vesuvia to grow attached to things too quickly. But, as he turns to walk to where he had agreed to meet his friend for the night, he can’t help but hope to see her again.

 

He hums that first waltz all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stumbled on this visual novel with little expectations, but quickly fell in love with the world and characters. My writing is sporadic at the best of times, but this game and the character I created for within it have sparked my creative streak in a way that hasn't happened in a long while. Because of this, I want to share the story with those of you who might enjoy it. This is the story of my apprentice, Deidre, and her relationship with Asra. Other characters will join in later chapters, but I love the openness of the 3 years pregame, as well as prior to the Amnesia that your characters experiences. While primarily in Asra's POV for now, we will switch back and forth on certain chapters. Please let me know if there are any errors or if anything is too confusing so that I might make corrections. With that, I hope you have enjoyed the start of my story! Stay tuned, as chapter two is already in progress~


	2. Vivere Rursus Disce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I believe, you have poached my familiar.” He accuses, tone teasing.
> 
> Her hand flies to her chest in fake exclamation, a slight gasp from her lips as though he has offended her. “I would never!” She claims, even as Faust nudges and rubs against her cheek. He raises a brow, gesturing with one hand at his familiar, just to prove the point. They sit there for several seconds at a stand off before they both dissolve into giggles.

 

 _Riding the aftershock beside you_  
_Off into the sunset_  
_Living like there's nothing left to lose_  
_Chasing after gold mines_  
_Crossing the fine lines we knew_  
_Hold on and take a breath_  
_I'll be here every step_  
_Walking between the raindrops with you_

 _Take me now_  
_The world's such a crazy place_  
_When the walls come down_  
_You'll know I'm here to stay_

_I'll be here every step_

_Walking between the raindrops with you_

-"Between the Raindrops" Lifehouse

 

**Vivere Rursus Disce**

 

Her nails dig into his forearms. He bites his cheek to keep from wincing. She leans on him for support as she lifts one shaking leg and puts it forward. He steps back as her foot places down, giving her room to do the same with her other leg.

 

It's been slow, this progress. Words were easy, her brain making the connections again with the ease of something never truly forgotten. She barely has any hesitation when she talks now. But walking... walking was another story. His magic could do many things, but rebuilding the muscle she needed to walk was not one of them.

 

(He was never a doctor. Ilya would have known what to do maybe, but he was _gone_ to who knows where.)

 

She makes it three more steps before her grip loosens and the sharp pain of her nails eases. He doesn’t mention the crescents that will linger in his arms, or do anything other than continue to lead her gently. It was his fault. The first time they tried this they both ended up in the floor. She hadn't even been able to hold her weight. And he had, unfortunately, not foreseen that particular issue. He should have. But for some reason it had slipped his thoughts until she collapsed, taking him with her.

 

She had cried, out of frustration, out of fear. Both of them bruised, in spirit as well as body.

 

_She hisses through her teeth, one hand propping her off of him on the floor, their legs tangled. His lips are already forming apologies. He should have held on tighter, should have had more precautions in place. She hushes his rambling excuses, her free hand touching his cheek, where he can already feel the bruise forming. It travels to his lip, swollen and bleeding slightly, where he bit it when her head collided with his chin when they hit the floor. He watches as she takes her own bottom lip between her teeth, biting it harshly as tears fill her eyes._

 

_“I keep hurting you…” She mumbles. It’s like a dam breaking and the tears rush from her, her body shaking as she sobs. “All you do is try to help me, and I—” She breathes in, sharp, curses following and spilling from her lips as she collapses against his shoulder. Her hands grasp at his shirt as his arms reach to hold her to him. Her face presses into his neck as she cries and he tries to console her._

 

 _“Hey, no. No. Deidre, it’s okay. I’m fine, it was my fault.” (_ _All_ _of it, is_ **_his_ ** _fault.) He tries to rub smooth circles on her back, heart breaking at the tears he can feel trailing down his skin and soaking his shirt._

 

 _“I’m broken.” She says, hiccuping between the sobs. “And it hurts that... I—I know that it hurts_ _you_ _that I can’t remember, that I can’t do_ **_anything_ ** _.” Her fingers twist in the fabric, as though he is the only thing grounding her and she’s worried he’ll slip away._

 

 _“I want to help, but all I do is make things_ **_worse_ ** _.” She whispers, body trembling. “I’m just useless..”_

 

_He swallows, throat tight and his own tears brimming. “It was just fall. You’ve been doing so well! Please... “ He hesitates, his own breath catching, and he holds her a little tighter. “..Don’t cry. Let’s just… try again, okay?”_

 

_She shakes her head, her hair tickling his face from the motion. Her whole body tightens for a moment before she seems to deflate, sinking into him. She doesn’t raise her head but releases a weary sigh._

 

_“Can… Can you just take me upstairs?” She asks. Her voice is faint and he feels, more than hears, the request. “..Please?”_

 

_He breathes deep, cursing himself internally for this mistake, and nods. “Of course.”_

 

It took him a whole week to get her to willingly leave the room after, and another week after _that_ to cajole her into trying again. When she finally relented (because he would not force her to do anything, ever, even for her own good), it was with the stipulation that they find a way to make sure they wouldn’t get hurt, should she fall again. The very next day he had filled the floor with pillows from their bed, including all the blankets, just in case. He has yet to let her fall since that first attempt. Now, he leads her from the front room to the back door.

 

She bites her lip as she takes another step, her eyes on the floor and her brows scrunched in concentration. He gives her elbows a gentle squeeze to get her attention. When she looks up he can see her frustration and tries to give her an encouraging smile. “Almost there. You've got this.”

 

She gives him a firm nod, just a quick bob of her head that makes the curling ends of her hair bounce and fall over her shoulders. She keeps her eyes on him this time as she stubbornly forces her body to move as she bids. He forces himself to hold her stare and keep the smile on his face, each step bringing them closer to the back door.

 

He uses a series of movements, (including his hip, shoulder, and elbow) in order to get the door open without letting go of her arms. The sun is warm on his back as they move through the door and out into the small yard. She gives a smile of triumph when her feet touch the grass, her teeth bright against her lips.  He steps closer, his own smile widening just a touch. His right hand slides up her arm and around so his hand rests on her back. There is a set up with chairs and a small table just steps away from the door that he helps lead her to.

 

She lets out a deep sigh once he helps her get settled, grinning at him briefly before letting her head tilt back on the chair so she can take in the sun. When she seems content to lay there and just enjoy the warmth, he pulls his eyes away and looks to the small yard around them. He's done the bare minimum with the old garden, he knows. Though he has kept it watered, it is in serious need of weeding and trimming. He stretches his hands out in front of him, then rolls his shoulders before getting to work on the nearest section of plants.

 

Faust joins them, taking turns playing amongst the plants and sneaking up on Asra, to going with Deidre to curl up in the sun on her lap. Each time, he hears Deidre greet Faust with warmth in her voice. Though she can’t hear Faust’s replies, it never ceases to warm him at the way she holds conversations with his familiar. It makes him smile as he works, to hear her voice echo quietly in this space they call theirs.

 

“You said this was all my… Aunt’s before, right?” Her voice breaks through a span of silence several minutes later, as he is tugging on a particularly stubborn weed next to the comfrey. He grunts an affirmative as he pulls, but turns to her once it finally comes loose. He tosses it into the growing pile to the side. He tries to be nonchalant as he leans back on his elbows to look at her, head leaning back and shaking his white curls from his eyes. He always worries when she asks questions about her past.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

She hums and stretches out one foot, toes pointed. The deep indigo skirt pulls up with the movement and he wonders if her muscles are tense from all the walking practice she's done in the past few days.

 

“I know that… my memories might not come back. But…” She hesitates and lets her foot drop back to the grass. “I still want to know… more? I guess. About her, and why she gave me all this. About things that might have been important to me.”

 

The unspoken question lingers in his mind, of if _he_ counts among those things she wants to know more about. (He was important to her once, _once_.) But he bites his tongue and gives her his most serious look.

 

“I can try. To tell you what I remember, anyway. But there are things about her that I won't know.” He gives her a tight smile. “And you have to promise to let me know if you start to get a headache. Even a twinge, alright?”

 

“Of course!” She sits up straighter, hands fisting in her skirt in anticipation. He lets out a sigh. He'll have to take it slow, stick with vague descriptions, to avoid triggering her memory, but… he doesn't have the heart to tell her no.

 

(He never could deny her anything. Except for the one thing that mattered most in the end.)

 

He lays back in the grass, crossing his arms behind his head and watching the sky as he speaks. He hears Faust slithering somewhere in the small yard and tries to remember. “Miss Alanna… she was a very strong willed woman. Something you shared, really. You butted heads a lot.” He can't help the small chuckle that escapes, saying that. “But she loved you. That was always clear. A bit of a mother hen, really. Got in her head that I was too skinny and would drag me into the shop for dinner in the evenings, after that summer I tried to sell fortunes behind the shop.”

 

“We met, then, right?” she asks, tentative. Not a memory on its own, but a memory of how he told her they met. Though he never tells her exact dates or years. Some details seem to trigger her headaches more than others. And he doesn’t want to distress her over the exact amount of time that she has lost.

 

His head twists to look at her, watching her face, just to be safe. “Yes. You were only visiting then, though.” She's leaning forward, elbows on her knees and chin propped in her hands. “No headaches?”

 

“Not at all.” She replies, smiling. “I think… the trick is that I have to _not_ try to make myself remember. Imagine it as a story about someone else, and just listen.”

 

“Good. I'll keep going then.” He gives her a brief smile back before focusing back on the sky above. He lets his voice echo about the garden, painting for her a picture of her Aunt as he knew her. Of how, without really noticing, he had somehow become her apprentice. The time he mixed up ingredients for an ointment for a customer, thought for sure she would kick him to the curb, only for her to spend painstaking hours teaching him the subtle differences found in all the ingredients.

 

He leaves out the bits about Deidre, herself. Better safe than sorry. He doesn't want to risk triggering an episode, be it a migraine or worse.

 

And how would he explain, _really_ , that she only took him on because Deidre told her to, after that night of the masquerade. Or that Miss Alanna helped him send her letters, of thanks and so much more, when he found out months later. She remembers none of that, or the actual night they met, to have the context for why she would have made such suggestions in the first place.

 

(He does not want to push that history on her when she doesn't remember. Doesn't want the awkwardness of her perhaps mistaking his intentions, when it is a _blessing_ she is with him now at all.)

 

“Asra?” Her voice is quiet, barely an interruption. Almost contemplative.

 

He pauses, concern pulsing through him even as he tries to remain calm. _She doesn't sound pained, he's worrying for nothing_. “Yes?”

 

“Would I be considered _your_ apprentice, then?”

 

He jerks upright, body twisting to look at her with something like alarm in his eyes. “What? No!” His response is maybe a bit to vehement, but there’s a part of him that recoils at the thought. The part that still dreams of what they once had. The part that sees himself as unworthy of teaching anyone, let alone someone who once had as much mastery over their gift as he does now.

 

She looks at him with one brow raised. “Why not?” She pulls herself so she's sitting straight once more. “You're teaching me everything, not just spells and herbs like my aunt did for you. Isn't that what masters and apprentices do?”

 

He looks at her with a weird kind of rushing in his ears. “I— I suppose so. It's different, though.” He is not her teacher. She and her Aunt taught him a great many things, and he is merely returning what she should have already. How could he take such a title, undeserved?

 

She shrugs, “Seems similar enough.”

 

 _She wants this_ , he thinks. It’s like a slice through his own panic. His voice comes out calm but his thoughts are still in an uproar. “Would that be easier for you? To consider yourself my apprentice?” He says it slowly, and it feels like the world is both faded and sharp at once. Like he’s dreaming. A dream from which he wishes he could wake.

 

(And isn’t that a thought he has had a million and one times, since he returned to Vesuvia three years ago?)

 

His heart twists when she nods. He understands, he thinks. Without her memories she is struggling to know herself. It is a title that she can associate with, that speaks of purpose and familiarity. This… he could give her this, if it helps.

 

“Alright.” His voice sounds too flat to his ears. Like someone else is speaking. Faust crawls into his lap from wherever she had been sunning herself, twining about his body into her favorite spot. She senses his distress, he thinks, but he is too numb in this moment to respond to her hushed thoughts. He pets her absentmindedly before rising to his feet and dusting as much of the dirt off himself as he can. Her weight is a familiar comfort about his neck.

 

“Well, let's go inside, shall we? We should have lunch, and then maybe you can practice with the Arcana while the food settles.” If this is the role she would have him play, then he shall do it. He gives a forced smile as he reaches out his arms to her. She takes his offered help without hesitation, and makes no comment to his sudden change in subject and demeanor. Her hands slide seamlessly into his, as they always have.

 

“Just the major Arcana, or all of them?” She asks, an easy smile on her face as she stands with his help.

 

“We'll start with the major and see how well you remember them. Then we'll see about the others.” He tries to tease, giving her a wink. It is half hearted but she laughs, just a small chuckle, and it is worth it. He smiles back, holding her gaze for a moment longer before she pulls her eyes away to focus on her feet once again.

 

And so they move, both of them, one step at a time.

 

* * *

* * *

 

_5 years ago_

 

He's putting out the lantern for the night, the last customer out the door with a smile and a wave, when Miss Alanna calls for him from the back room. Checking the door is locked, he follows her voice until he finds her pulling something out from behind one set of shelves.

 

“I know you're likely eager for dinner, but I need you to go to the docks. I have something coming in that should be on the last ship of the day.” She tells him, shaking out what appears to be an old mat to get rid of the dust.

 

“Right. Do you know where Faust is hiding? I'll need to send her with a message for Muriel.” Were it anyone else, he might have just said no. But Miss Alanna had done nothing but help Asra and Muriel, both, this past year. She had taught him a great many things, and not all of them magic. Staying late to help her with a small favor was the least he could do.

 

“I sent her on with a note from me to that tall friend of yours. Told him I'd send you back with a warm meal for keeping you.” She says it matter of fact, as if it were normal for one to order about someone else's familiar.

 

He shakes his head, chuckling. She turns and shoo’s him out, the mat draped over her arm. He backs out of the room and stands to the side so she can exit herself. “What exactly am I picking up?”

 

She huffs, free hand waving as she glares at him. “You'll know.”

 

Ah. Another test, then.

 

“You just have to look. If—”

 

“If it seems important, then it probably is.” He sighs, finishing her sentence. It’s a lesson he has heard since he was a child at his parents knees. The memory is faint, the years from their absence leaving him with only vague recollections of their voices. Hearing it now, it brings their memory just that much closer. Perhaps it is that is yet another thing which makes him at ease with the older woman he has apprenticed himself to.

 

He gets a soft smack to the side of his arm for his tone, to which he makes an exaggerated flinch but laughs when she clicks her tongue at him. Her own lips are pressed tight as she tries to keep from smiling.

 

“Don't sass me, child. Go. And see that you bring back the right thing.”

 

He gives her a little bow, just shy of mocking, were it not for his deep respect for her. She swats at him again halfheartedly, lips twisted upward in affection. She misses as he dances away, his feet spinning across the floor and his head ducking so he feels the movement of her hand in the edges of his hair. She half mumbles some word in a language he doesn’t know (yet) and rolls her eyes at him. It makes him grin as he walks backwards a few steps. He turns, grabs his scarf from where it hangs at the door and heads out to the docks with a laugh.

 

It's not the first time the older shopkeep has sent him on some errand turned test. She believes in him learning hands on, that he should figure things out on his own rather than mimicking her. ‘ _Magic_ ,’ she said, ‘ _is about will. No two magicians will cast a spell the same way. You must find your own path_ ’.

 

Sounds nice, but typically meant he was left with vague instructions and had to find the outcome himself. Frustrating at times. But also endlessly rewarding once he had finally got it.

 

It wasn’t a far walk to get to the docks from the magic shop. Though night crept in, the streets still held a few people going about their business. Some were putting up decor for the masquerade, which was due to start in three days time. He gave a wave to those who called out greeting. Some were customers that met him coming in to Miss Alanna’s shop, others were people he had done readings for prior to his odd apprenticeship to the magician woman selling remedies and odd ingredients.

 

It was strange, the changes that had taken place within a year. No longer did he need to worry about finding a stall or pushing to sell his fortunes during the masquerade. No longer was he  Now, he could rest well knowing that even if someone didn’t pay for a fortune that day he would still get paid by Miss Alanna for helping her with the shop. It might not always be in coin, sometimes she paid him in food or in new clothing she had somehow noticed was wearing thin, but he was always compensated.

 

Combined with the fact that shortly after he had begun to work for Miss Alanna, Muriel had found a small cabin that had once been built into the roots of an old tree that they had now claimed as their own, then it was certainly shaping to be a much better year. The old place had been abandoned and worn, but they had fixed it up over time. Now, it was quite cozy. Small, but still much better than sleeping at the docks with the other orphans and homeless, as they had since they were children.

 

The sun is nothing more than a pale reflection on the water by the time he arrives at the docks. The light that is left turns part of the water a vivid orange, the sky fading to a deep pink with bare touches of indigo pulling in the night. The last boat has already docked and appears to be in the process of unloading. It’s dark silhouette stands out against the backdrop the ocean provides. He weaves his way through others who are looking for their own deliveries and heads towards the dockmaster. The man is directing the unloading, a board likely holding a list of names and expected contents in his hand. He stands mere feet away from the hull of the boat where it rests on one side of the dock.

 

“Excuse me, sir?” Asra gets the man’s attention, gesturing to the boat with one hand. “Could you point me towards a delivery for Miss Alanna Cailleach?”

 

He keeps a pleasant smile on his face as the man nods at him briefly, eyes scanning his paperwork. The man frowns, checks once more, then shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. Ain’t got nothin’ ‘ere wit’ that name.”

 

Asra feels his own lips turn down. His brows pinch together. Miss Alanna wouldn’t have sent him here for nothing. Perhaps it’s under a different name? Maybe he can convince the dockmaster to let him view some of the packages. He wishes for Faust briefly, and her ability to get into just about any place she pleases. She could certainly have helped him should the dockmaster decline. But just as he opens his mouth to try his hand at persuading the gruff man, a voice calls up from the railing.

 

“Asra!”

 

His eyes go wide and he spins, head looking up for the source of the shout. There, up on the boat and leaning over the edge of the railing, is a familiar figure. Black waves of hair are barely tamed by a scarf tying it back in a tail and ice blue eyes are bright as she grins ear to ear.

 

“Deidre!?”

 

Her name comes with a surprised laugh. He steps forward, stopping just at the edge of the dock. Waves splash up against the boat between it and the boards, stray droplets landing on his pants with a chill. Several things click together at once; the mat that Miss Alanna had gotten out to clean, the cleared space inside of the backroom that she’d insisted stay empty, the extra trip to the grocer that she’d had him make yesterday. She’d been expecting a visitor. Someone who might be staying for a while...

 

“Don’t let me fall!” He hears her yell, with that sparkling laugh that has haunted his dreams for the past year.

 

His attention is jerked back to present to find that in his musing she has climbed onto the railing, standing in dark lavender pants and a dark gray tunic shirt with a lavender coat, her arms in the air at her side for balance. He has just enough time to throw out his own arms before she leaps down, her laughter stolen by the wind.

 

The moment is eerily similar to the day they met, something he is sure she’s done on purpose. But good meals and better sleep means that his balance is much better than it was the year before. This time, he catches her with a responding laugh. His foot steps back only once and he uses her momentum to spin her in a circle before letting her feet touch the planks. Someone from the deck of the ship is yelling, a mix between whatever home language they use and the common tongue in Vesuvia, but the words are lost on them as she grins up at him. Her hands rest on his shoulders, his lingering on her waist, and he can’t help give her an answering grin of his own.

 

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He teases. Mirth dances in her eyes as she steps back, hands trailing down to rest on his forearms. Her eyes look him up and down, a slow trail as she takes him in. He lets her, grin transforming into more of a smirk even as he feels the heat bloom across his face.

 

“Stop catching me and we’ll see.” She teases back before letting her hands drop from him. Her eyes meet his once more before she turns back and yells something up at the workers still calling down from the deck. Some of the words are familiar, from her Aunt when she slips into her home tongue. Her hair hits his chest as she shakes her head, hands on her hips, bickering with the men obviously chastising her for jumping from the railing.

 

 _Never._ He thinks but doesn’t say. _I will catch you every time I get the chance._ Catching her the first time was pure instinct, and luck. Yet it seemed like nothing but good had followed their meeting, like wishes come true. Like the passing light of a shooting star, his whole world feels brighter with her presence. With greedy hands, he will hold onto every second until she passes him by. And when she falls out of sight he will keep glancing back at that night sky, waiting for another glimpse, dropping wishes at her feet like he had the stars he once gazed at from the docks as a boy.

 

He watches her shoot one of the older sailors a particularly vulgar gesture (that he honestly is not at all surprised she knows) before she turns and grabs his wrist in a loose, but firm, grip. He barely raises a brow as she begins to tug him away from the dock, half-mumbled grumbling about overprotective men escaping her lips. He can’t keep the smile from his face as she speaks, honestly doesn’t even try.

 

She looks back at him once, mid-rant, and catches him smiling. Her anger seems to fade as she looks at him and he watches her blush, cheeks darkening, before she grins back at him. She loosens her hold on his wrist to slide her hand into his.

 

“My Aunt didn’t tell you I was coming, did she?”

 

He shakes his head and shrugs, letting his fingers tighten around her hand. “No. But she probably expected me to put it together myself.”

 

Deidre rolls her eyes and sighs. “Of course she did.” Though he’s sure she meant it to sound sarcastic, it comes out affectionate. Seems that her habit of withholding information doesn’t only fall to those she takes on as her apprentice.

 

She slows her pace, no longer dragging him with her, and instead matches his stride so that she’s beside him. She hums as they walk, some tune that he doesn’t know, and swings their joined hands between them. He has to lead her in a few places, but her memory of the Vesuvian streets is good for someone who hasn’t seen them in a year. She asks about Faust, where she is and how she’s been, and he fills the rest of their walk with stories of his familiar from the past year. When they finally reach the shop she pauses with her free hand on the door, tilting her head up at him with a teasing smile.

 

“Did you miss me? At least a little?”

 

He can’t keep the grin off his face as he leans into her space, humming as though it requires some thought. “Maybe. Just a little.” He teases, hand coming up to accentuate the claim as he holds his finger and his thumb a hair's width apart. Their faces are inches apart at most.

 

She laughs, shoves at his shoulder, and sticks her tongue out at him. As she pushes the shop door open and yells for her Aunt, her hand slips from his. He watches them greet each other, lingering in the doorway until Miss Alanna chides him and orders him to come eat. Throughout it all, even as they eat, he finds his eyes falling back to her as though his entire being is pulled into her orbit.

 

When it is time to leave, Deidre is shoo’d off to clean the dishes while Miss Alanna packs away the plate for Muriel. She gives him a bag, enchanted with a charm to keep the food warm, which he accepts with a smile. Deidre shoots him a smile from her spot at the sink, soapy hand raising from the water in farewell. He raises his own back in kind, a fluttering starting in his chest that he shoves down as he turns to follow her Aunt downstairs to the door.

 

 _Fool_ , some part of him claims. (Its voice sounds _suspiciously_ like Muriel.) For it is pure foolishness to find this much joy in the presence of someone who is barely more than a stranger. A passing friendship made in one day, for whom he shared perhaps a letter or four, but knew barely nothing of at all. But Asra knows how fleeting joy can be, how easily the things he wants can slip from his grasp. An urchin childhood has taught him that. But unlike others, he is made all the more determined for the rarity. When he finds that fleeting joy, he leaps for it and holds on tightly.

 

So fool he may be, but he will hold on to this light. For as long as he can.

 

* * *

_Present_

 

Teaching her is half heartbreak and half elation. Each time she learns something new and gets it right, he can’t help but shower her in praise just to see her smile. Something in her blossoms after accepting herself as his student, as though it makes it easier for her to relearn these things she has lost by pretending she never knew them to start. But with every new lesson, he hesitates, waiting to determine if a memory might prompt a response. Most of the time, he is left hiding his disappointment.

 

There are some instances though, where it seems like residual memories surface after gentle reminders. Reading is one of those. He forgets, at first, that this might be something she needs to relearn until he asks her to find an ingredient from their stockpile and he catches Faust nudging the bottles to her as Deidre’s face pinches in frustration. He watches for a moment, dumbstruck, as the relief spreads across her features and she whispers thanks to the pale amethyst serpent.  

 

His familiar always was much more observant than he was.

 

When she catches him watching her she blushes from embarrassment, insisting that it isn’t a big deal, and that he has already been helping her learn so many other things. He disagrees, puts aside his current project, and immediately finds the nearest piece of paper and charcoal he can find to write out the Vesuvian alphabet.

 

The next day he sneaks to the market while she is asleep, with Faust watching over her, to peruse book vendors for childrens book to help her learn. He is unable to find any that are in her native tongue, a unique sounding language from the isles to the west of Vesuvia’s ports. It is a sound that he has not heard in a very long time (and may not ever hear again). He loathes that he didn’t take the time to learn it from her when he had the chance. He will find a way to give those words back to her, somehow. A task for another day.

 

At first, it is stiff and slow going. He keeps a tight leash on his emotions and tries to provide as much patience and praise as possible. He works lessons on letters and reading into their day, searching for items in the shop or making games to include them with learning about magic. He is reminded of his childhood, and teaching Muriel to read in that small sanctuary he had under the docks.

 

Deidre has more patience with him and his teaching than his tall friend had, during those bygone days.

 

Three weeks into this and he wakes to find her gone from the bed before him. He scrambles from the bed, eyes wide and heart beating wildly in his chest from panic. He practically falls down the stairs when he cannot find her in the living space above.

 

(She has wandered before, when a memory triggered and she shut down. He is still learning what leaves her with headaches and what takes her senses, but he must have left something in view that caused it. Now he hides a great many things in the back room, out of sight. He had spent hours searching before he found her at the docks, her feet bare in the sand and her eyes unfocused. The image haunts him in his nightmares.)

 

She looks up at his loud entrance, a book in her lap and eyes looking at him curiously. He can do nothing but stare, like time has stopped, before commenting dumbly, “You’re reading?”

 

She hums, looking at him in a way he hasn’t seen her do in such a long, **_long_ ** , time. (He should **not** be thinking about what those stares used to mean.) He feels his face heat as he realizes that he has been panicked for nothing and is parading about their home in nothing but a pair of threadbare pants he sleeps in. Once, he might not have been bothered by it. Though they share a bed even now, since her return he has stayed resolutely to his side and she to hers. Combined with the fact that he has been rising before her for over a year now, dressed and presentable before she has even opened her eyes. It has been a lifetime, it feels, since he had dared walk about their home in such a state.

 

When her eyes finally move away from him and back to the book in her lap he releases a breath he hadn't even noticed he was holding.

 

“It finally just, I don't know... clicked?” She tells him, marking her page. She sets the book to the side and unfurls herself from the old bench covered in pillows they keep next to the window. She's not bothered getting dressed in her rush to read apparently, as he notes she is wearing only a large shirt of his that she had confiscated years ago. (Of course, he doubts she _knows_ it was once his.)

 

“Did you… remember?” he asks, trying (and probably failing), to keep the sound of hope from his voice. She feels pressured enough to remember herself, without him reminding her what is missing.

 

“Not… exactly?” she shrugs, tilting her head. She taps the side of her chin with her right forefinger as she steps closer, eyes unfocused as she searches for the words to explain. “More like… trying to read before was like looking through the window when it fogs. And then I just, finally wiped it away and could see it clearly again.”

 

She looks up at him, that same hand moving from her face to lightly touch his arm. Gone is the faint heat he thought he saw when he came down the stairs, and now she looks at him with nothing but concern filling those eyes.

 

“I didn't mean to worry you, Master.”

 

The title douses whatever thoughts he had entertained of that glimpse she gave him. _Master_. She thinks herself his student. He is her teacher and caretaker. Friend, maybe, if he stretches it. She is not likely to look at him in such a way for as long as she sees herself as such.

 

Maybe not ever again, if he is honest with himself.

 

He forces himself to smile, though it probably comes off as more of a grimace. One hand pushes through his hair, unruly and tangled from sleep. “I just overreacted, it's fine.” He shakes his head and let's his hand fall down to cover hers, gently. It is true, because she has been without an incident for over a month now. He should not have acted so rashly.

 

Honestly, why hadn’t he just called her _name_?

 

“Why don't I get started on breakfast, and you can go back to reading then, hmmm?” He offers. Her eyes light up, jumping back to the book briefly before coming back to his face. He grins, glad to see her enthusiasm for something she had once enjoyed so profusely.

 

“I could help, if you need it.” She gives the offer with a tone that tells him she would very much like to _not_ help. He chuckles and pats her hand before stepping away.

 

“I think I can manage. Go on. Enjoy your book. You can tell me about it later.”

 

She laughs, just a small, quick sound. “Okay.”

 

 _“Stories!”_ He hears Faust say excitedly, the snake obviously having heard part of the conversation. He doesn’t see her from wherever she was laying previously, but when he turns around at the foot of the stairs, he finds them both back by the window. Faust is settled about her neck, head perched on Deidre's shoulder, as the dark haired girl reads. For all purposes, it would almost seem they were reading together.

 

It brings a wistful smile to his face as he leaves them, memories dancing in his head.

 

* * *

 

_5 years ago_

 

It’s strange at first, seeing her during the day. She’s there when he knocks on the door the following morning, hair piled atop her head in some sort of messy bun, trails of dark strands still hanging free. She gives him a welcoming smile that quickly turns into a much bigger grin when Faust peeks her head up from his scarf. Faust slithers free of him and straight onto her reaching hand when Deidre greets her, the snake radiating excitement. Deidre, for her part, is cooing and murmuring to his familiar as she scratches under the purple serpents chin. Faust’s tongue flickers in and out in happiness.

 

She opens the door wider, even as she brings Faust to tap her nose against her snout. Asra follows as she backs back into the shop and yells to her aunt of their arrival. He is unaware that he is smiling as he watches the pair, his familiar and this girl who holds his dearest friend in the palm of her hand (literally almost, though Faust has herself wrapped about her arm twice over to sit there). That is, until Miss Alanna comes in and tuts at him.

 

“Right. Quit grinning and come along, you’re going to help me get some poultices ready to take down to south end.”

 

His smile drops and he feels his face heat, hand raising to rub at his neck to ease his embarrassment. He looks away to nod at the older woman, though his eyes catch Deidre grinning at him as he turns. “Of course. Coming.”

 

He does not miss the twinkle in her eye as she leaves, expecting him to follow. He turns back to Deidre, his arm held out, palm up. Faust dutifully slithers from her and back about his shoulders. He gives her a small scratch to her chin himself as she rubs her head against his cheek.

 

Deidre clasps her hands behind her back and rocks on her heels, smiling at them. “I’ll be holding down the fort here, while you two work in the back. So don’t worry about any customers or interruptions!” She tells him. He is curious about it for a minute, wondering why she wouldn’t also join them in the back, before he decides that he can always ask later. It won’t do to make the older magician wait for long, or she’s liable to cook up some new test in her mischief.

 

“Alright.”

 

And so he goes about his day as normal. Or well, most of it. The first part of his day is relatively the same, except for the ignoring of any sound of the bell over the door. He hears her voice, talking to customers new and old as they wander in. He hears her gentle tones and tries not to be distracted. After being admonished for his wavering attention by Miss Alanna twice, he eventually learns to let it fade in the background.

 

So much so that he doesn’t hear her call for him until she is right beside him.

 

“Asra?”

 

He jumps, his head connecting with the top edge of shelf he had been sorting. He winces, hand rubbing at the top of his head as he stands back up.

 

When he sees her she is hiding her mouth behind one hand, obviously struggling to keep from laughing at him. The faintest heat touches his cheeks even as he sends her a playful glare from across the room.

 

“Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you.” She tells him. Laughter still sounds in her voice, but she holds her hands up in front of her in surrender. “I tried calling out to you before and you didn’t answer.”

 

“It’s fine.” He mumbles, chastising himself mentally for the clumsiness. “Was there something wrong?”

 

She shakes her head, hands falling back to her sides. “No. I just tossed together something for lunch and figured you could use a break as well.”

 

Her comment seems to prompt his body into remembering just how many hours he’s spent in this room, bending over shelves and ingredients. His stomach lets out a grumble, loud enough that Deidre hears it where she lingers in the doorway. He gives a sheepish smile as she giggles, “Maybe a break would be a good idea.”

 

She waves him to follow and slips out the doorway. He follows her, leaving the workroom behind. It’s little more than a large closet really, the backroom usually providing more space. There are several mixtures though that require certain conditions to reach their full potential, and the trickier ones are always done in this room.

 

He has no idea of how Miss Alanna organizes her things, especially as to his mind it seems very much _unorganized_. Yet she always knows just where to find something and has a reason for the placement any time he has asked. He might not understand it, but she is at least competent in her craft.

 

Deidre leads him upstairs, the living quarters above where most of the food is kept. The lunch itself is a simple fair, sandwiches using leftovers from another night's meal. Her aunt leaves as they sit down, announcing that she will be back in am hour to keep the store closed until then. When he asks for directions on what she wants him to do in that time, she merely waves a hand at him.

 

“It's lunch time. _Relax_ , Asra. We will work when I get back.”

 

It's not unusual for her to leave him midday with nothing to do but mind the shop and clean. Normally he passes the time with a game of hide and seek with Faust, something his familiar loves. With Deidre here, he finds himself at a loss for what to do in the time.

 

Faust finds him as they finish eating, slithering up and around his body until she is curled on top of his head. Deidre notices as she takes their plates to sink and breathes a soft laugh at their squirming until the serpent has settled.

 

“ _Game?_ ”

 

Asra glanced at Deidre as she rinses their dishes. He gives Faust's head a little rub before scratching lightly at her chin. “Ah, I dunno if we'll play today.”

 

He can feel Faust's disappointment as soon as he says it,  but he isn't quite sure how Deidre would feel about their childish game. Would she care at all? Or would she find them irritating for still engaging in antics fit for children half their age? It's an answer he isn't sure of and thus doesn't want to risk inquiring about.

 

“Play what?” Deidre calls over her shoulder, surprising him.

 

“Ah…” He isn't sure what to say really, other than to fully explain it. Her opinion of him, he has found, means quite a bit. And so heat creeps up his neck as Faust slides from his his head to his shoulder. He hesitates, trying to will his voice to sound nonchalant. “I… usually play a game with Faust when your aunt leaves like this. She finds places in the shop to hide and I try to find her without using magic.”

 

Deidre dries her hands on a towel, grinning when she turns back to face them. “Oh! So, like hide ‘n seek?”

 

“ _Game!”_

 

Faust flicks her tongue in agreement, a pulse of excitement sent along her thoughts.

 

Asra blinks, stunned by Deidre's reaction. She seemed, almost... happy? to hear what they'd intended to play. “Yeah. More or less.” He shrugs, using his unoccupied shoulder so he doesn't jostle his familiar. He wonders... would she have preferred an invitation into their game then?

 

“Well, don't let me stop you. I was going to try and finish a book, anyway.” She says, laying down the towel and coming over to pet Faust herself. It's an answer to the question she likely saw on his face, and not at all what he expected her to say.

 

“Are you sure?” He asks, still uncertain. “Faust enjoys it a lot, but I wouldn't want to bother you.”

 

She laughs, shaking her head at him. One hand comes up to rest on her hip as she rolls her eyes. “It won't bother me at all. _Really._  Once I get into a book it would take quite a lot to get my attention, anyway.” She raises the hand from her hip, giving a flick of her wrist, hand gesturing as she speaks. “So please, feel free to play as though I wasn’t even here.”

 

He smiles ruefully, thinking about how impossible it’s been to pretend she wasn’t here most of the day. He doubts very much that this will be any different. She gives him a little wave, leaving him watching as she moves towards the stairs. Faust wriggles in excitement before sliding off of him to begin the game, happy at this continuation of their routine. He watches Deidre leave until the stairs take her from view. Then, he closes his eyes to count quietly, giving Faust her head start. A quick game of finding his familiar then. And maybe... Maybe he could see about having her join them after, or finding some other way for them to enjoy the lull of the afternoon. 

 

With that goal in mind, he sets off to find Faust, eager to make an end to the game with plenty of time from the hour to spare.

 

But Miss Alanna is gone for more than an hour, and he finds in that time he has still yet to find his familiar hiding about the shop. All of her usual favorite spots are empty, and he even dared to check a few places he’s told her to avoid. Still, he finds himself empty handed. Though worry trickles in slightly, he knows that if Faust was truly in any sort of trouble he would feel it.

 

It’s happened before, in the not too recent past.

 

So he seeks out the only other person in the shop, hoping that she may have seen something even as he remembers how engrossed she had said she is likely to be. True to her word, Deidre has been reading the entire time. Curled up on a old wooden bench next to the shop window, which she has piled with pillows for comfort. She has barely looked his direction at all. It also brings to light that he hasn’t checked over near her at all, to ensure he didn’t disturb her. There are plenty of places to hide, including amongst the pillows adorning the little nook.

 

It is entirely possible that Faust, with her penchant for mischief, has hidden there for the exact purpose that he would be more reluctant to encroach upon Deidre while she was reading. Their friendship is still new and uncertain (all the more now that they have more time to spend together). But he has run out of other places to look, or other options to seek.

 

And, after all, the game was always set that he couldn’t use magic, not that he couldn’t have help.

 

He approaches slowly, just to be sure he doesn't surprise her. She's leaned back against some of the pillows, her dark hair like a blanket over her shoulders as it drapes about her. The book is held in one hand, the other hovering over the top right corner, ready to turn the page. Her legs are hidden underneath a skirt dyed a pale purple. He is only a few steps away when he notices something odd.

 

Is she…. Mouthing the words? No… More like she’s… whispering.

 

And that’s when he catches sight of a little tongue flickering just over her shoulder. He has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud as he watches. Faust, perched on the edge of Deidre’s shoulder, is hidden by the waves of hair so completely that he never would have seen her at all. And the little snake is so entranced in whatever Deidre is saying that she pays him no mind until he is hovering over their space.

 

“So this is where she’d ran off to.”

 

Deidre stops, mischievous grin forming on her lips as she looks up at him. Faust peeks out from her hair, head moving up and down as she radiates excitement.

 

“Well, I think she got bored and decided to come read with me.” Deidre teases head tilted to keep his eye as she turns so her feet fall from the bench to the floor. “She seems to be enjoying it, at any rate. I started reading aloud when I realized she was here.” She dog-ears a page and sets the book in her lap, reaching up with a fingertip to rub underneath Faust’s chin.

 

“ _Stories!_ ”

 

Asra laughs, shaking his head. He pushes his hair out of his face when he looks back at them, still smiling. Faust looks none too ready to leave and Deidre is watching him with a soft smile of her own.

 

“I believe, you have poached my familiar.” He accuses, tone teasing.

 

Her hand flies to her chest in fake exclamation, a slight gasp from her lips as though he has offended her. “I would never!” She claims, even as Faust nudges and rubs against her cheek. He raises a brow, gesturing with one hand at his familiar, just to prove the point. They sit there for several seconds at a stand off before they both dissolve into giggles.

 

Asra steps over and flops onto the bench next to her, shoulders shaking with the silent laughter as it fades. He looks down at the book she’s reading and doesn’t recognize the title. He taps the front with a finger, looking from it back to her. “Well, would you care to continue then, with an addition to your audience?”

 

He gives her a cheeky grin and she rolls her eyes, opening the book back to her page. “I’m not starting over. You’ll just have to listen from where we left off.”

 

He leans over, head leaning onto her shoulder so he can see the pages. “Fair enough. But you’ve my curiosity piqued.”

 

She rolls her eyes, exaggerating the motion so that her head shifts, hair tickling his cheek. She tucks the wayward strands behind her ear and back over her shoulder to get them away from his face. Faust wriggles so her own small head is touching the edge of Asra’s while she still stays perched on Deidre’s shoulder, all her attention on the words as they start back up. Deidre doesn’t bother whispering now, her voice light as she brings the words to life. The longer he listens, the more he can see what caught his familiar’s attention. The story itself is good, yes. But Deidre reads to them like one would children, with extra emphasis on certain words, attempted voices for characters, and changing of tones with the mood the words have painted.

 

It is an experience that he wouldn’t mind repeating and is content to linger in for as long as possible. So he does.

 

When Miss Alanna finally returns to the shop, almost an hour later than her original time given, she finds the three of them still curled about on the bench. The book is held in her niece's lap by one of Deidre’s hands, loosely draped over the pages. Faust is laying atop Asra’s head, where it rests against the dark haired girls shoulder, and peeks up from the contrasting strands of black and white hair. Both of the younger magicians are fast asleep, much to the amusement of the older woman.

 

She will wake them in a moment, she thinks. Let them rest. There is an ache in her bones, something that tells her that this moment, this peace, is something they may need in whatever the future has stored for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've still got the mojo for this, so more will be incoming. Third chapter has a much smaller start than this one did though, as I ended up stuck and completely rewrote the last half of this one in two days, haha! It may be a little bit for an update but I expect this is likely to lead up to the current points we've seen in the game if I can have my way. Thank you to those that have read and subscribed, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!


	3. Non Soli Sumus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t worry, Muri. She won’t bite.” He says, soothingly, before his smile changes to a smirk. “Well, not unless you ask, probably.” His eyebrows go up and down in a manner that makes Muriel fight to keep the heat off his face. Muriel has had more than one innuendo explained by Asra enough to understand what his teasing tone is hinting towards and he desperately does not want his first thoughts of this girl to be about that.

****_I pass the time_  
_In cool paranoia_  
_Detail each crime_  
_That killed me before ya_  
_But your pale blue eyes_  
_Trigger innocence_  
_And bind to euphoria_  
_Then I'm lost_  
_And it throbs_  
_I hear it laughing_

_  
My heart will destroy us_

  
\- "Call My Name" Unlikely Candidates

  

**Non Soli Sumus**

  
  


“I want to go with you.”

 

Her voice is a little louder than a whisper, pleading, where she tugs on the edge of his shirt. He shakes his head, a thousand excuses for her to stay on the edge of his tongue, all of them said before. Her fingers tighten in the material at his physical refusal. She is disappointed, he knows, and he braces himself for the pout he knows will be upon her face in her attempt to convince him. He reaches gently for her hand, pulling her fingers loose to hold them within his grasp, thumb rubbing over her knuckles in an attempt to soothe. 

 

“It will be crowded, especially today. Maybe another time.”

 

_ Maybe. Another time. Not yet. Soon. _ All things he has said as she has asked again and again to leave the shop, their  _ home _ , for things unknown. Although her curiosity is a trait that he loves her for dearly, at times he finds it frustrating in his attempts to keep her healthy and whole. If not for Faust, he fears he would likely have lost her again already.

 

More than the crowds, it’s the places he worries about. Would seeing those familiar sights trigger her headaches? Would they cause worse? What of the faces of people she should know? There may be few, from Vesuvia being much of a port town there are too many whom she was only a passing acquaintance. But if even one person were to insist they knew her and try to make her remember them, it would not end well. He’s loathe to test those waters, even though he knows he will have to eventually.

 

He cannot keep her behind these walls forever.

 

He lets her hand slip from his and moves grab his scarf. It sits in a pile on the edge of the counter, where he had left it the last time he’d came home. As he’s reaching for it she snatches it away from him. She hides it behind her back, as though it will keep him from going, and he can’t help but smile even as she frowns at him. He reaches out a hand, fingers wiggling in a silent request. She takes a step back instead and he sighs.

 

“Please, Master—”

 

“No.”

 

“I promise! I won’t leave your side and—”

 

“Deidre…”

 

He takes a step towards her and she retreats in kind. She brings the scarf to her front, clutching it tightly in both hands as she looks up at him from under her dark lashes. He makes a quick grab for his scarf, his smile gone. She jerks it just out of his fingers, the fabric teasing against his palm before his fist closes on air. 

 

“Master, I’ll be fine! Plea—”

 

“No.” His voice comes out louder than he intended and her eyes widen. His own loudness catches him by surprise and he feels Faust wake with a start at this surge of emotion from him. He ignores his familiar’s murmuring as he makes chase again, hip catching the edge of the counter as she dashes behind.

 

“Just listen to me!” Her own raises in kind, a familiar kind of fury lighting in her eyes as she evades his steps once again. Once more the fabric teases out of his fingertips and he curses under his breath. His chest is tightening painfully, a sense of deja vu clinging just out of reach. 

 

“ _ Deidre _ —” There’s a warning in his tone, the kind he hasn’t used with her since her return, ever. A tone he has only really ever used on her once before.

 

He’s caught her, finally. Backed into the corner of the shop where he does his readings. Her left hand still holds his scarf to her chest, fingers pale under their tight grip. Her right hand clenches the table behind her as though she needs it for support. She’s breathing heavy, and she flinches when he quickly wraps his fingers around the fabric of the scarf to try and wrest it from her grip. She leans back, practically onto the table, her right hand coming up to push at his chest.

 

“Asra, please!” 

 

His name slaps him almost physically in the face, bringing him to a sharp stop, fingers gripping the edge of his scarf in her hands. All at once, he notices all the things that he had ignored in his furious attempt to force her to listen to him. He is hovering over her, the scarf and her hand between them, and her eyes are brimming with tears not yet shed. Her cheeks are red, a mixture of anger and sadness warring in those pale blue eyes.

 

So familiar, his aching heart tells him. The look on her face now is like a mirror to their past and it stops him cold.

 

_ “Asra, please!” Her voice sounds near breaking, “Don’t do this!” _

 

_ She clinging to his wrist, begging him to stay. Her eyes are filled with tears as he looks away, words sharp and body tense. Her anger at his decision is gone, but his anger at hers still burns. _

 

_ “Then come with me.” He practically spits the words. She won’t, he knows she won’t, but oh how he wishes. But he will not resort to begging her to chose him over this rotting town. _

 

_ “Asra, we could help people.” Her reasoning, to help the very people that would see them both burn if they stayed to catch this plague. As though their magic were the answer after other magicians and doctors had failed. But despite it all she still has hope that a cure is out there.  _

 

_ “Please, just listen—” She tries to link her fingers through his, her other hand trying to reach for his face to bring his gaze back to her. _

 

_ He jerks from her grip and steps away. “I’m leaving. I won’t watch this city burn itself to the ground.” _

 

He shakes his head as the memory fades to the background. His entire body goes cold as that feeling of familiarity finally clicks into place. He looks to her face, finding her eyes still shining but the tears have not yet begun to fall. Her lips are pressed in a thin line and the sight brings his guilt forefront. Shame burns down his throat as he swallows tightly. His fingers tighten in the fabric before he lets go with a deep breath.

 

“I—” He starts, his voice catching.

 

_ I'm sorry. He says it a million times into the sand. Black sand between his bloodied fingers. I'm sorry. But she can't hear him. Even when he screams. _

 

“Alright…” He relents, shoulders slumping, and takes a step back to give her space. His voice is quiet now, the silence heavy as she watches him with wary eyes. He gives her a forced, lopsided smile and gently reaches for the hand that still lingers on his chest. He cups in gently in his own, holding it there lightly, and lets his thumb rub against the back of her hand.

 

She relaxes slowly, a small smile breaking through as she removes that step between them. “You mean..?” She asks, eyes blinking back the tears as she looks at him

 

He lets out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Yes. Maybe I'm overreacting. But,” he pauses, looking at her pointedly and trying,  _ trying _ , to keep the mood light despite the darkness that creeps up in his thoughts from his past, “there will be some rules.”

 

Her smile blooms full force as she practically bounces on her toes. “Of course!” She says, leaning into him. “Anything!” 

 

“First, no wandering off.” He lowers her hand from his chest, guiding it between them as he steps back to place distance between them. His free hand reaches for her other hand, gripping it lightly around the cloth of his scarf she still slings to. “Stay next to me the whole time, please. No talking to anyone that I don't introduce you to. And,” He calls to his familiar through his thoughts, a small request that she agrees to quickly, paired with an apology for not listening to her warnings earlier. “Faust is to stay with you, just in case.”

 

_ “Protect!” _

 

The lavender snake perks up from her spot by the window, body wiggling until her head looks at them from upside down. Deidre laughs as she catches the sight. His own smile changes, from a forced lopsided smile of reassurance to a smaller, much more real, smile of relief at her happiness. 

 

Her hands tighten around his fingers briefly, the fabric of his scarf between them. She bites her lip when she looks back at him and then slips her hands away. She lifts his scarf up and places it about his neck, hands lingering before she steps back and holds just one finger up in a familiar gesture.

 

“Give me just a minute to go get my shoes and I’ll be ready. No sneaking away!”

 

He shakes his head, still smiling. “No sneaking.” He says, one hand coming up to rest on his chest over his heart. “Promise.”

 

She frowns at him, feigning seriousness and wags her finger at him for all of a second before the smile breaks through again and she hurries from the room. He watches her leave, eyes following her until she is out of sight. Once she’s gone he raises his right hand to rub at his face, his left bracing on the table behind him. He lets out a ragged sigh as Faust leaves her window perch to cross the floor to him.

 

His chest  _ aches _ , the sharp pain of his guilt pulsing with each beat of his heart. He has only ever lost his temper with Deidre once.  **Once** , in all of their days spent together over the years, and it was the worst mistake of his life. He remembers that day and regrets every word he had spoken, changes them in his head over and over, wishing he could change the outcome and have never stormed out of the shop that day. And he had promised himself that he would never,  _ never _ , lose his temper with her again, to never yell at her in anger, or speak sharp words that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

 

And he had almost broke that promise, today. Over something so trivial.

 

He worries, sometimes too much he knows. But he admits to himself now, in this revelation, that he has maybe also been selfish. Unwilling to share her with the world when it was the  **_world_ ** that took her from him the first time. He does not want the risk of losing her again when she is finally,  _ finally _ , making progress towards finding herself again.

 

Faust climbs him until she can wrap herself around his chest and give him a squeeze. His familiar’s version of a hug brings him some relief and helps to pull him from his melancholy thoughts. He lets go of the table, letting himself stand upright once more, and scratches the top of her head lightly in thanks. 

 

With trouble, he shoves his fears to the side and admits that she is ready for this, probably has been for quite some time. She’s walking fine now, even if her balance is still off on occasion, and she’s went without any severe headaches or odd symptoms for some time. Her magic is still reluctant, but it is at least under control and not likely to be cast without her consent. All of these would indicate she should be fine out amongst other people, and it would do good for her to interact with someone other than him and just the odd customer here or there.

 

And, he admits reluctantly, if she is still anything like herself from before… well, who’s to say she wouldn’t have just went out without him?

 

_ Determined eyes on a rooftop, swaying fabric and a solid body colliding with his. She has no hesitation jumping into the unknown and laughs like stars glimmering in the sky. His chest, his arms, his heart, naught but a resting place for her wandering and inquisitive soul. _

 

So when she finally returns down the stairs, shoes acquired and a bright smile on her face, he finds himself returning that smile with his own. He holds out his hand to her as she approaches, the part of him never quite able to get enough of feeling her warm skin touch his is singing as her hand slides into his. Faust uses their joined hands as a bridge to make her way to Deidre, before hiding herself into the folds of the scarf around her waist. The snake blends in with the similar colored fabric, her red eyes barely seen at the edge of Deidre’s hip.

 

“It’s going to be loud.” He tells her as he pulls her to the door.

 

“Okay.” She rolls her eyes in response and he grins.

 

“Very, very crowded. We might have to hold hands the whole time.” He teases, rewarded with the lightest dusting of color darkening her cheeks.

 

“Oh,  _ no _ . Hand holding!” Her voice is over dramatic in tone, the sarcasm obvious. The change in the atmosphere from earlier is so dramatic that he can’t help but continue the banter. If only because he knows it makes her smile.

 

“And it’ll be hot, you know. The sun can be scorching in the streets.”

 

“ _ Master _ —”

 

He is barely able to keep from laughing at the way her nose wrinkles at him as they go out the door. Instead he gives her a toothy smile. “So many people,  _ sweating _ , in the hot sun. Liable to get smelly too!” 

 

He hears the sigh leave her lips as he turns and locks the door. Her exasperation at his teasing is feigned, he knows. His hand hovers before making the wards, a glance behind him with brows raised. “Are you  _ sure  _ you still want to go?”

 

She shoves at his shoulder with her free hand, glaring at him with those eyes that have always drawn him in. The sunlight makes them shine, making them look more blue than gray, and it lifts his heart. 

 

“ **_Yes_ ** .” She hisses at him, but the grin on her face softens the forceful tone. He breathes a laugh, mumbling platitudes as he sets his hand on the wood to place the wards, a cross-me-not spell among them. The whirls and symbols glow white with the charge from his magic before fading into the wood of the door, unseen once set.

 

When they finally make their way towards the market stalls, he watches her from the corner of his eye. Her face lights up, eyes wide as she takes in sights once familiar to her, forgotten like so many other things. And when she tugs on his arm to pull him to certain stalls, gaping and cooing over wares of unusual origin, or delicate artistry, or savory treats, he lets himself forget what they had originally come shopping for. He basks in her enthusiasm, in her unbridled joy and thinks that so long as she is happy and smiling and  _ safe _ , then it has been worth it. 

 

Everything he has done and will do, it is  _ all _ worth it. For her happiness.

 

* * *

_ 4 years ago _

  
  


Her time at the shop is too short, in both of their opinions. She's gone again with only promises to return the following year and to write him in the time between. But even though their time together has been brief in its entirety, there's a connection there that he has not had with anyone. Not even Muriel.

 

Muriel, who has watched Asra as he falls even further out of his reach as he leaves a world that has held only the two of them. Bonds of their childhood having held them strong in the face of the all Vesuvia had to offer those unfortunate enough to have been orphans along the docks. Asra has always made friends easily, effortlessly, even if he never let them get  _ too  _ close. Muriel had been different. And this girl, Deidre….

 

Muriel senses that she is going to be different, too.

 

His oldest friend listens to his ramblings over this girl he has never met, if only because her time in Vesuvia is too brief (and Muriel’s own reluctance to meet new people), and tries to remind Asra to safeguard his heart. She is here and gone like the wind, and one day he worries that she will not return. Grow tired of his kind-hearted friend and leave Muriel to pick up the pieces. His grumblings are always met with the same response.

 

“You're worrying too much, Muri.” Asra laughs, fingers stained in ink from his latest additions the letter meant for Deidre. Yet another in the many he has sent. Yet a glance on their small table and just as large a pile rests with her responses. “You'll understand when you meet her!”

 

Muriel is not convinced. Sure, her aunt gave Asra a job and pays him decently. (He doesn't mind that sometimes the pay is in old clothes or food. It's like she has an uncanny sense to know what they need.) Miss Alanna is kind enough to teach him about runes when he asks and never forgets to include Faust and Inanna in their conversations. She is a nice woman, kind and stern. But none of that has any bearing on this  _ girl _ who shows up once a year to disrupt their lives. 

 

And maybe  **that** is what he fears most, beyond Asra's potential broken heart. The changes that she seems to bring, that follow her wake like ripples in the water.

 

(Muriel has never done well with change.)

 

Time passes, days and weeks passing, marching into months and bringing the masquerade ever closer. Asra’s spirits seem to only grow as the week long celebration closes in and Muriel finds himself frustrated. He listens, as he always has, to his magician friend as he talks of a never ending list of things he wants to share with this Deidre. New spells, new places, new books. There is a growing tense feeling in his chest that he doesn’t like when these talks begin. It doesn’t help, he thinks, that most of them are things that Asra would not share with him. 

 

Not because he wouldn’t want to, but because he knows Muriel has never had an interest for those sorts of things. Wanderlust and discovery are in his friends’ veins. Muriel is content in their home in the forest, well away from people and set in his routine.

 

(Still, it stings.)

 

Miss Alanna has Asra out on another late errand tonight, with Muriel and Inanna waiting at her shop. Her request, along with the prompting of food, meant that he folds his large body into one of her mismatched chairs without complaint. She has earned enough of Muriel’s trust that he is almost, almost, comfortable here.

 

Inanna sits at his feet, dozing in the silence as they wait for everything to finish cooking. She is still growing and he is surprised at her size. Asra had told him that wolves were big, when they had found her almost a year ago near their cabin. But big to him and big to Asra were different things. Still, she was already almost as big as Asra when she stands on her hind legs, which put her a little above his waist. He was pretty sure he was done growing,  _ finally _ . If Inanna continued to grow like she was… well, they would both be dwarfing the majority of Vesuvia soon.

 

“Knew someone like you once, you know.” Miss Alanna says as she sets a bowl down in front of him. Her voice cuts through the silence as though it were a physical thing and his head jerks up. Inanna too, jerks awake at his feet, likely from his own too quick movement. Miss Alanna just continues on, talking as she goes back to the stove to fill another bowl.

 

“Not quite so tall, mind you. But had the gift like you, that extra sense.” She waves a hand, smothering the fire burning at the stove with a wave of thought, and returns to sit at the table with him. “Makes sense now, why you stay in the woods so much.”

 

Muriel is sure his confusion must show on his face because she stares at him for a moment like she expects a response and then laughs. “Do you even know that you do it? It’s how you read runes so well but Asra doesn’t.”

 

He shrugs, uncertain what she’s hinting at. “... I just listen.” Asra, he thinks, is too impatient to hear the whispers like he does. He moves too fast, too loud. But that’s what makes him good at all the other magic he can do, that Muriel doesn’t.

 

“That’s the thing, boy. You’re not listenin’ with your ears. You’re an empath,” she gestures, tapping her own chest twice with a finger, “you listen with your heart. One in a million, people like you.”

 

_ An empath? _ He has no clue what she means. Listening with his heart doesn’t make much sense, not really. Though it makes about as much sense as any of the other magic stuff that Asra talks to him about.

 

“Is that… good?” He asks, mostly because the way she says makes it seem so but if it was, why wasn’t it more common?

 

“Can be.” She says, making a motion to his bowl with a look he knows means he better eat. He takes a bite which she watches before she continues. “You sense things others don’t. You can feel people’s emotions, especially if they’re strong, and you can likely tell you have an instinct in reading others and their intentions.”

 

He nods, not because she needs an answer, but because he feels like she wants to make sure he’s listening. But he doesn’t stop eating either, the stew is warm and flavorful now that he’s taken that first bite. It fills the gnawing hole in his stomach that he gets so used to when food and money is scarcer than normal.

 

(And he may have been feeding Inanna his portions to make sure she didn’t go without, but she  _ is _ still growing and needs it more than him.)

 

“Like most things, it can have its drawbacks. Being able to feel that much means that it’s rather hard to turn that part off. Makes it hard to be around too many people, too many emotions pushing against you. Most of your sort end up living away from the bustle of cities. Makes it easier.” 

 

Some of what she says rings true. He has always disliked crowds, avoided them since he was a child. But, he also hated the stares and the attention his size gave him. So many people found him dangerous upon sight alone, and that hadn’t improved over the years as he only grew taller. Yet, he could also admit that being out in the city during the day usually left him feeling overly tired and... itchy, almost. 

 

“Is there a way to… make it stop?” He asks, out of both curiosity and because he feels like maybe it would make his life easier. If this ability is what makes it so troublesome to go out and do things, if he can learn to shut it off then… maybe things could be better?

 

He doubts it. He still doesn’t like people very much in general. But it’s worth a shot.

 

(And maybe there’s a part of him that wonders if this could be considered some sort of violation. It’s not like he has to ask for their permission, apparently. And something about that rubs him the wrong way.)

 

Inanna whines at his feet, ears flicking. He looks down at her for a brief moment before his eyes go back to Miss Alanna. The older woman doesn’t bat an eye as he takes meager left over bits from his stew and sets the bowl on the floor for the wolf to finish off.

 

“No.” She says simply, raising a brow. “There’s a way to dull it enough for you to ignore if you want. But it’s handy, don’t you think?” She hums with a knowing smile. “To be able to know how someone feels towards you or Asra and if they mean you harm? Most animals are born with this ability you know, helps them avoid danger.”

 

There’s a pleased aura that comes from Inanna as she laps up the tidbits left from his own dinner. She doesn’t talk to him like Faust does to Asra, but she communicates in ways that he realizes he’s always been able to understand. Her posture and the emotions he can feel from her. And yes, while he might not like to feel things from a great portion of people, he has to admit that his “gut instinct” as Asra had called it when they were kids, has gotten them out of some bad situations and avoided traps that many of the other orphans from their childhood fell victim to.

 

He nods, a small bob of his head. He’d rather have the safety net than risk the safety of Asra or their familiars.

 

There’s a commotion at the door downstairs that has Inanna perking up and Miss Alanna giving him a grin that makes Muriel stiffen. It sings of mischief and, even after their calm talk and his comfort he has found in this place, it makes him wary.

 

“Come along then, Muriel. Inanna, too. I believe Asra is back with what I sent him to fetch.”

 

Inanna shifts closer to him, likely feeling his trepidation. He trusts the older woman, he does. He tells this to himself over and over as he reminds himself that she has done nothing but help them since they’ve known her. Still, he is glad for the wolf at his side and her company. His fingers ruffle in her fur for a moment, grounding himself before he maneuvers down the stairs.

 

Inanna goes first, something she has taken to doing as she has gotten bigger. He doesn’t mind, but he is careful so that his feet don’t bump into her as they descend. He can already hear Asra talking, though he can’t make the words out really. His aura is… excited, happy, he thinks. It makes Muriel curious. Until he leaves the small hall from the end of the stairs and another voice pipes in, silvery and lilting with a slight accent, and  _ utterly  _ **_unfamiliar_ ** . 

 

He realizes, with some dread, that Miss Alanna has done all this on purpose. The discussion upstairs about his ability, inviting him for dinner to wait for Asra, the strange late night errand. She somehow knew that he held some reservations about her niece and decided to force this meeting.

 

Part of him is angry at it, but the other part admits that he would have put off meeting this girl Asra has become obsessed with for as long as possible.

 

He steps into the room so that he can actually see what awaits him, only to find Asra leaning against the counter and looking at him with a big smile. Muriel gives a quick glance out of the corner of his eyes and doesn’t see the girl or her aunt anywhere in the room. His shoulders loosen, relieving a tension he hadn’t even noticed had built. 

 

“They went to go take her bag to the back room. It’s where she sleeps when she stays.” Asra answers his unspoken question, just like always. He tilts his head and shrugs, trying to stay unaffected by this surprise. Asra knows him better than that though. “Don’t worry, Muri. She won’t bite.” He says, soothingly, before his smile changes to a smirk. “Well, not unless you ask, probably.” His eyebrows go up and down in a manner that makes Muriel fight to keep the heat off his face. Muriel has had more than one innuendo explained by Asra enough to understand what his teasing tone is hinting towards and he  _ desperately  _ does not want his first thoughts of this girl to be about  _ that _ .

 

Asra laughs at his expression, his scowl hindered by the red flushing to his cheeks. “...I’m leaving.” He takes a step to move towards the door only for Asra to reach out and grasp his arm gently.

 

When he looks down at his white haired friend, he sees Asra wearing a sheepish smile. He can immediately tell that Asra was sorry for teasing him, not just from his aura practically rolling off of him but also from the pleading look in his violet eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry! Shouldn’t have made that joke. Please stay, Muriel?” 

 

Muriel gives a bit of a glare, something he knows intimidates people. (Well, except for Asra and Miss Alanna, apparently.) When all Asra does is look at him with this faux innocent expression, looking up at him from those long white lashes….

 

“Fine…” He grumbles, gently shaking Asra off his arm. Asra lets go with a grin just as a footsteps sound from behind him. When he turns, he sees a small young woman. Smaller even than Asra, and even a few inches shorter than Miss Alanna. Her hair is long and settles in waves down past her waist in a deep black that is a direct contrast to Asra’s hair. He wonders if that’s what color Miss Alanna’s hair would be without the streaks of silver.

 

But it’s her eyes that catch him by surprise. Her aunt’s eyes are a deep brown, like the chestnuts he finds in the forest, their outer shell shining with dark brown shades. But this girl, when she looks up at him, her eyes are bright blue that seem almost silver when the light hits them. 

 

“Asra, my Aunt said that you’d be staying for di—” She was already talking before she came in but pauses, blinking, when she sees him standing next to Asra. She has to tilt her head back slightly to look up at his face and her mouth makes a little ‘o’. He shifts, feeling a little uncomfortable under her stare.

 

“ **_You_ ** are very,  _ very  _ tall.” She says it as a statement, and he almost wants to point out that this comment is very obvious, but he feels it wasn’t necessarily something she  _ meant _ to say aloud.

 

Asra laughs, his honest amusement at her statement pulling her gaze from Muriel back to the white haired magician. “Right? He even makes me feel short!”

 

Asra steps away from Muriel’s side, one hand coming up to rest on Deidre’s shoulder as he stands between them. His other hand waves to Muriel in a broad gesture. Her eyes are pulled back to him once more as Asra attempts to introduce him.

 

“This is Muriel! I’ve told you about him a few times.” Asra tries to nudge him in what he assumes is a hint to say something. He racks his brain for something to say, anything really, but his mouth opens before he has fully thought any of his words through.

 

“...You’re smaller than I thought…”

 

There’s a thick silence and Muriel feels himself tense. Deidre looks at him and it seems like time has slowed down as her eyes squint and she frowns, her nose wrinkling as it scrunches under her expression. Inanna presses to his side, sensing his discomfort as he watches Deidre’s eyes flick between him and Asra.

 

Her hands go to her hips, the movement knocking Asra’s hand from her shoulder. “Did you just call me  _ short _ ?” She says, her tone indicating that she is maybe… surprised by his statement. (Which is more confusing really, because she must have known, right?) “Asra, is he calling me short?”

 

Asra has one arm crossed against his chest while his other arm rests against it, propped at the elbow, his hand covering his mouth as he tries not to laugh. A soft snort comes through anyway, making Muriel glare at him. Asra swallows down the laughter with some obvious trouble. 

 

“If the shoe fits.” He says finally, with a light glance to Muriel and a look in his eye that Muriel knows is his way of diverting the attention that is making him so uneasy. He feels his face heat even as Asra looks back to Deidre, grinning like a fox as she turns her glare on the white haired magician. 

 

“Ohhh!  _ You _ !” She growls at him, poking him in the chest with a finger. She is grumbling at him about teasing her as Asra finally gives in to his laughter, but Muriel doesn’t quite hear the words. He realizes with a start that her anger is entirely feigned. If he looks closely, there is the hint of a smile in her lips and the same twinkle in her eye that Asra gets right before he teases Muriel.

 

And if he focuses on his other senses, those fickle whispers that he has always heard around him, he recognizes that there is an undercurrent of safety and kindness that sings against her aura. In fact, watching them side by side, he can feel the way their aura’s brush. Hers is… surprisingly similar to Asra in the way it feels, but different in ways that almost fit to his oldest friend like puzzle pieces.

 

He’s not sure if this is a good thing or not, but something in him eases.

 

She turns to him suddenly after having shoved Asra’s shoulder in some sort of retaliation. He almost takes a step back but is frozen by the wide smile she gives him. She sticks out her hand in a gesture he knows is meant to be a greeting. He hesitates, looking to Asra briefly (who has this stupid smug grin on his face. What exactly is he enjoying about this so much?) before placing his larger hand into hers.

 

“It is nice to meet you, Muriel.” She shakes his hand once, grip firm despite how small it feels. “I guess if I’m honest, I really am pretty short compared to you, huh?”

 

“Compared to most people, really.” Asra pipes in. Deidre sticks her tongue out at him for his comment and it just makes his old friend laugh. She looks back to Muriel and rolls her eyes, then starts when she seems to notice Inanna. For a moment he thinks he’s going to feel her fear, before she immediately drops to the floor to his Inanna’s level and radiates some sort of childish wonder, looking at his wolven familiar.

 

“Awww! And who is this beautiful, furry friend?” She asks, her voice going a pitch higher as she coos at Inanna as though she were some small baby. He blinks once, surprised. Inanna seems confused as well, but not afraid in the least and sniffs at this girls outstretched hand.

 

“...Her name is Inanna.” He says, voice low. She doesn’t even look at him as Inanna licks her hand. Instead she giggles, a light and shining sound that somehow makes him think of chimes in a gentle breeze, or the twinkling of the lights hanging in the sky above the hill in the forest.

 

“That’s a nice name! Perfect for someone so pretty and strong, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” She continues cooing over Inanna, her hands gentle in his familiar’s fur as she seems to find all of the wolf’s favorite spots to be scratched. Inanna seems more than happy to be spoiled with the attentions, and he looks to Asra as though he might offer some help on what he should do. Instead he finds his friend staring at this dark haired girl with a look in his eye that Muriel has never seen before. Something… fond and wistful. There is something practically screaming in his aura that seems to be reaching towards her.

 

He wonders if Asra even knows of it, this pull he probably feels.

 

He stares, eyes almost sad with the understanding of what is growing in front of him. A movement at the hallway jerks his attention away only to meet the gaze of Miss Alanna. She was watching it all with a look that told him she knew exactly what seemed to be blooming between the two magicians in between them, and was very much trying to encourage it. She shakes her head lightly before she steps closer and makes herself known.

 

“You kids gonna hang around down here all night or are you gonna come up and eat before the food goes cold?”

 

Asra winces and mumbles an apology while Deidre laughs, gently pushing away from Inanna who has somehow gotten her large body into her lap. Muriel shifts from one leg to the other, wondering if he should maybe just leave. He feels… tight, with all this newfound information and longs for the woods and their simplicity. But as Miss Alanna and Asra head up the stairs, Deidre turns back and looks at him with a curious smile, gentle and small but somehow still able to fill the room with her presence.

 

“Are you coming, Muriel?” She asks, and her tone somehow even seems to convey that she hopes he will. It’s like looking at Inanna when she was a puppy, he thinks. He feels this absurd need to protect her and he’s only known her for a few minutes.

 

He huffs and shrugs. Inanna whines at his side and nudges him with her nose. Muriel closes his eyes for a moment before nodding.

 

“...Yeah. Coming.”

 

She smiles bright and beaming before turning on her heel and bouncing (she actually  _ bounced _ ??) the last couple steps before reaching the stairs. She races up the stairs after the others and he follows more slowly behind. Inanna thumps her tail against his leg happily before she moves in front of him to take the stairs. He immediately hears laughter and the sound of the mismatched bowels being brought out as he ascends. He wonders briefly what he’s supposed to do since he already ate before they got here but shoves the thought away. He can’t leave now. He’s already said he was staying. 

 

(And he admits just this once, that maybe he feels a pull towards this girl too. Like they’re stuck in her orbit and he can’t help but be pulled along with her and Asra.)

 

When he gets to the top of the stairs Inanna has already found his previous chair and curled to the side of it. Asra is sitting to the left of the seat, Faust peeking out over his shoulder as he lets her small tongue taste some of the stew off his finger. His old friend grins at him and pats the chair with his free hand, as though Muriel would sit somewhere else without prompting. Muriel sighs and walks over to sit in the chair, which creaks a little with his weight but holds. Just as it has every time he’s been here. 

 

Deidre sits on his other side with a smile and sets down two bowls, one of which she slides in front of him. It’s on the tip of his tongue to refuse, having already had one helping earlier, but the way she looks at him makes him swallow the words back down. She’s so earnest in making sure he enjoys it, even waiting to take a bite herself until she’s watched him take one himself. He feels his face flush under the scrutiny and tries to keep a straight face, mumbling in assent when she asks if he likes it. 

 

He keeps eating, because the first bowl didn’t really erase his hunger entirely (he hates asking for more and he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t notice his grumbling stomach most days) and because there is something about Deidre’s smile that makes the room feel… brighter somehow.

 

He doesn’t want to be the reason it dims.

 

Miss Alanna gives him a knowing smile from across the table, which he tries to look away from only to catch Asra’s gaze. His friend is taking a bite of his own meal but pauses long enough to wink at Muriel. There’s a glint in his eye that tells Muriel that Asra has caught the blush he knows has passed over his cheeks more than once and he fully intends to tease him for it later. He can practically feel the humor rolling off him.

 

He chooses instead to look at none of them, the safest option, and looks at his bowl as he focuses on the food. Even still he finds himself looking at them out of the edge of his gaze. Deidre talks with her hands, animated as she regales some story to Asra, who listens, enraptured. So focused on the tale she almost neglects to eat until her Aunt scolds her, making her end her telling for now with a sheepish grin. Asra laughs and Faust trills her tongue in her own snakey laughter on his shoulder. Inanna rests her muzzle on his knee with a huff, accepting scraps from his fingers gently and everything seems…. Peaceful.

 

When he leaves with Asra later he thinks he understands now, what Asra kept trying to tell him. Even with the fleeting time he’s spent so far, it’s like there’s a warmth that… dissipates when you leave her presence. Kindness, maybe, is all he can think of to describe it. A joy in the world around her that spreads to those that find themselves in her proximity. 

 

He still isn’t sure if he likes her (despite Arsa’s teasing), but….. He can admit that he enjoyed that warmth and wouldn’t complain if he got the chance to feel it again.

 

Well… not much, anyway.

  
  


* * *

_ Present _

  
  


He watches from the edge of an alleyway, Inanna pressed close to him. Asra leads her through the clustered groups of people, keeping her steady on the wooden planks and away from any gaps leading to the water below. Her arm is linked through his, a broad smile on her face as they look at some shop owner’s stall selling an assortment of glittering crystal and glass made into figures and shapes. 

He has seen her maybe a handful of times since Asra brought her back. She looks…. better than the last time he saw her. But something is still off. There is something missing that made her who she was, that inner glow that shone in her aura that he found hard to ignore. Her pull, like one of Asra’s fancier spells, that seemed to make it easy for people to trust her. 

 

If he looks hard he can still see some remnant of her old aura, but it’s faint. Suppressed.

 

Much like her memories, he supposes.

 

There’s a hesitation to her movements now, and something in her seems almost as fragile as the little figures she is enamored by. Asra, for all his attempt to appear at ease, radiates with worry that will only briefly fade under the joy he finds with Deidre as she wonders at things new to her. Though the Deidre he knew wasn’t an empath like himself, Muriel is sure that she senses something of it. She glances at him with her own worry every so often when Asra isn’t paying attention.

 

Another thing to add to the list of changes.

Inanna whines at his side, urging him to join them. If it were just Asra, he might have. He avoids crowds unless he needs to, but people don’t remember him anymore. Their stares don’t last. Asra is the only one who can’t forget him and it is…. Nice to spend time with his friend who is often occupied with his current charge.

But it is not just Asra. Deidre, who might have laughed at his height when they were younger and accepted him as friend long before he’d done the same, does not remember him. Will never remember him again, if the spell he’d had Asra cast lasts as it should. Her own memories gone, he will be little more than a large, scarred man interrupting her time in the market with her mentor. 

 

Somehow he doubts she would look at him without fear, this time.

 

(He’s not sure if her looking at him with fear in her eyes would break what little piece of him that is left that craves comfort and company. He is not eager to find out.)

 

The two of them move on to another stall, meandering out of his eyesight and Muriel sighs. Once, he might have walked these streets with them and heard both their teasing. Once, he might have tried to hide a smile over some nonsense item that Deidre found and created some  _ horrid  _ and ridiculous backstory for. 

 

Once, Muriel might have had more than one person to call ‘friend’.

 

He turns, ignoring Inanna’s huff of disappointment, and follows the alleyway to a back street leading to the canal. He can follow this path and avoid most people until he can reach the edge of the city and return back to the woods he calls home. He has never felt quite at home in the city, anyway.

 

Inanna follows him, happy to leave as well despite her attempts at coercing him to socialize. Wolves, despite some opinions, were very social creatures. Inanna seemed to take it upon herself in her growing years to make sure Muriel had interaction with more than just forest creatures and Asra, now and again. Yet even she can barely stand the city. There are scents that offend her delicate senses, loud noises that take her by surprise, and her size leaves a great many people echoing fear in their wake. 

Muriel knows, too, that the fear is also not always directed towards Inanna.

 

Reaching the forest path is like being able to breathe again. There is a weight that leaves his shoulders and he can almost feel himself straighten as they walk. The woods itself are never quiet, not in the way he thinks most people expect. Quieter than the  _ city _ , yes. But there is always ongoing noise of the animals and nature as they go about their business. These sounds, better than anything Muriel has known, can put him at ease and make him feel at home in a way he is sure few would understand.

 

He has learned, over the years, how to mute the feelings of others and only focus on what he wants to hear. But even still, the weight of all those people sits in the background like white noise in his mind. Leaving that behind and going to where it is just him and Inanna and the sounds of the forest has always left him feeling an intense relief. He rolls his shoulders, releasing some of the tension and standing just a little bit straighter.

 

Inanna lopes ahead of him, the trail familiar and the destination obvious. The small cottage(more of a hut, really, but Asra has always glared at him when he called it that) is set a ways into the wood and the trail itself has the occasional protection charm hanging from branches.  _ Just in case _ , Asra had always said. He used to come out and recharge them often. Used to. Muriel doesn’t think he’s taken the time in months, judging by the feel of the fading magic.

 

He makes a note to in his thoughts to do so himself soon, before they lose their purpose.

 

Just outside the cottage is a small clearing. Enough for a small fire pit, the big stump he uses as a seat, and an old log Asra rolled here years ago. There’s not much need for a fire, with the weather not yet trailing cold, but he starts one anyway. It gives him something to do with his hands while his mind wanders. And besides, he enjoys watching the flames dance with the stars above them, once the moon is high. Sometime between when he left the city and he gets the fire started the sun begins to set. Inanna has left him to find her own meal for the night and he sits on the stump to gaze into the flames as the sounds of the woods at night begin.

 

The noises at night are softer. Less vibrant than the sounds of the day. The forest, like many things, has more than one side and the nights among its embrace are not one known to many. Everything in the forest has a voice, from the animals to the trees and the plants. Not as loud as people, but still there. If he listens hard enough he can hear it; the whisper of wind through the leaves, the gentle scraping of something digging at the dirt, the creak of the bark as a tree sways. He doesn’t feel lonely, despite what Inanna and Asra think.

 

Deidre, he remembers, understood that. 

 

Something he wasn’t sure even Asra had been aware of at first. Her uncanny attunement to the earth. When her visits grew longer, after Muriel met her for the first time, she would come with Asra sometimes. To visit with them both, she said. Always intent to remind Muriel she considered him friend as well. And sometimes, if one of her trips coincided with Asra off on some errand or adventure away from the city, she would sit with him out here and they would listen to the forest together.

 

It was a strange kind of companionship, to be able to say so little and still enjoy someone's presence. It was… completely different than what he’d always had with Asra. 

 

Seeing her today brings many of those memories to the surface. Watching the dancing flames and the shadows they cast on the log across from him, he can almost see her there again. Eighteen and looking off to the left, into the forest with some faraway look on her face that made him unable to look away. A night, quiet and cool like this, and a memory he has never shared with Asra. He wonders if  _ she  _ ever told Asra what she said to him that night.

 

_ The fire crackles and snaps, Inanna asleep in the dirt beside him. Her hair is like a shadow surrounding her, her deep blue dress only helping her seem like some half faded shade sitting before him. He knows, based on the way her eyes gaze empty at the trees, that she is listening to something only she can hear. He can… feel snippets sometimes, he thinks. But she has already explained to him before that to her, there is a voice to the earth and the things that grow upon it. _

 

_ He doesn’t try to get her attention. He knows that she’ll talk when she’s ready. She affords him the same courtesy. Well, most days. But when she does finally look at him he flinches, as her aura fills with an intense sadness that he has never felt from her before. Her eyes almost glow in the firelight, the pale blue looking almost silver before she closes her eyes and they are hidden from sight.  _

 

_ “Muriel….” She starts, taking a deep breath. Some of the sadness recedes. “If I ask you for a favor, would you grant it?” _

 

_ He’s confused, and he knows it shows on his face. He grunts something in the affirmative and reaches for a stick to add to the fire just for something to do with his hands. Something about the way the atmosphere feels now has him… worried. _

 

_ She smiles at him, a silent laugh escaping her lips in a puff of air. When she opens her eyes again it is only to turn her gaze back to the trees. “Something’s coming, Muri. It’s going to be a big change, maybe even a little dangerous. I don’t know when but… within the next few years maybe? The earth… it knows these things. It…. senses when something is bringing a change but it’s not good at guessing numbers or at judging time.” She shivers, arms coming up to hug herself, and she hunches slightly. “I… don’t think it’s going to be good. It feels… like when a plant starts rotting in the roots.” _

 

_ Muriel listens, tense and unsure what to say. “....Have you told Asra?” That’s who she should be talking to, he thinks. Wild, creative Asra, with a penchant for getting out of trouble. He’d know what to say to make Deidre feel better, he’s sure. _

 

_ Deidre shakes her head, hair trailing over her lap with the movement. “No. No, I didn’t want to worry him.” She looks back to him and he again gets that sense of sadness that he can’t quite place a cause for. Though maybe… maybe there is something she isn’t telling him. _

 

_ “If I’m not here…. Can you take care of Asra? Keep him out of trouble, please?” _

 

_ He scoffs. Watching Asra is what he’s done since childhood, but keeping him out of trouble is impossible. “...He can take care of himself, you know.” _

 

_ She smiles and looks at him, hands falling into her lap where her fingers pick at the fabric of her skirt. “I know. Just…. Indulge me, please?” _

 

_ He feels his face heat as she continues to look at him, waiting for an answer. He looks at the ground, mumbling. “...I’ll try.” _

 

_ She laughs, and when he looks back up she’s leaning back on the log like nothing has happened. But the sadness is still there, even if he can’t see her eyes as they look up at the stars peeking through the trees. _

 

_ “That’s all I ask, Muriel. Thank you.” _

 

Muriel rubs his face with his hand. He remembers that conversation more often than he would like. If he reads between the lines, and remembers what he felt from her that night, he thinks that there was a lot more she didn’t tell him. He might be better off not knowing, but he knows that for Asra, it might have helped in the end. But he also doubts she knew the exact path this change would take.

 

He very much doubts that she expected it to be a plague.

 

They’d had another two years before the news of it reached the city, smaller towns on the outer edge the first to experience the horror. Another year before it began to affect the city proper. He remembers her aunt, when she passed from it, and the devastation it brought all of them. He thought, then, that whatever change Deidre had heard on that strange night, that this was it. What could possibly have caused her more sadness than this?

 

He’d forgotten, until much later, that she’d not expected to be here when the change happened. And the promise she’d asked of him. He forgot and didn’t think of it, and then Asra left them both. He let the memory fade until, weeks later, Deidre showed up at his door to ask him to watch over her shop, giving him the spare key and giving only half-answers to his questions. 

 

“I’m going to the palace to help. One of the doctors there agreed to take me as an apprentice.” She’d told him. Just that, enough to make him worry tenfold and wish Asra was there to keep her from being impulsive. He tried to warn her it was dangerous, he trusted that Count very little and liked him even less. But if she was helping the doctors, then she would be even closer to the plague and far more likely to catch it.

 

Asra was gone and he didn’t know when he would come back. He didn’t want to lose another friend.

 

But she’d laughed and promised to visit often. She’d tugged him down to plant a kiss on his cheek and then laughed bright and twinkling at his blushing face, the sadness that had ached around her since Asra left lightening for a moment. And it was a promise she kept for several weeks. Until her visits went from daily, to every other day. To once a week, then every other week…. And then none at all.

 

Until he realized he was alone, after so long of having gotten used to the company of two people that he cared for more than anything. Until he realized how much he missed their ‘forced’ company, their laughter, and their presence. That, for the first time in a long time, he felt a profound sense of loneliness that left him hollow, even with Inanna by his side. 

 

Until the day Asra showed up on his doorstep again almost a year later, with his fingers coated in blood and ash, and he realized that Deidre was gone. The memory of that promise aching within him and making him realize that when she stopped coming by, it hadn’t been because she was busy, but because she was sick. And that…. Maybe she had known it was coming, all those years ago, when she made him promise to watch after Asra, who was left a shell of the man he was, with the loss of her more permanent than just temporary distance. It hurt, seeing his friend like this. And it hurt, knowing that there would be no more laughter between the  _ three  _ of them, and no more crazy plans or exaggerated stories told with expressive hands. No more shining blue eyes, like steel, to peek at him from the other side of the fire and appreciate the silence in the woods.

 

It all just  _ hurt _ to even think about.

 

And what hurt, perhaps most of all…. was that she hadn’t even said goodbye.

 

Now, here she was. Her, and yet not. And he knew Asra wanted to fix things, to make them back to the way they used to be. A part of him wished that too, the part that realized that he also may have failed in his promise. (Asra had been very reckless that year, and trouble was something he practically sought in the mad plan he concocted. But it worked out, for the most part.) But Muriel wasn’t sure that it could go back. Something was… different.  _ She  _ was different.

 

Muriel wasn’t sure how to handle it. She could leave them, or the spell could fail, or so many things could go wrong. No. Better, he thinks, to keep his distance. Then… Well, maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much if she was lost to them again. He’d already mourned once.

 

He didn’t think he could stand having to mourn again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This actually took me a lot longer to find the groove for than I expected. I rewrote this probably three times, and then finally managed to get it flowing enough within the last week or so that I felt satisfied. Introducing Muriel here wasn't exactly planned, but I think it helps add a bit to kinda explain why Muriel doesn't seem to like the apprentice much during the actual game events. I always felt like he doesn't warm up to people easily, and the fact that he seems to be the only other person besides Asra to remember the events of the plague and the masquerade, gave me the idea that maybe he's using it as a self defense mechanism because he's already aware that she's died once. He might feel as though this is not quite the same person, and not be keen to trust as easily to prevent another heartbreak.
> 
> In addition, the bit of her hearing the Earth or what have you, is my take on my apprentice's specialization. I think she's good with Earth elements, and that she can hear what the plants and such are saying. And it is true, that people have seen that nature tends to notice when severe changes are going to happen in an area. Migration patterns will change and certain plants may stop growing even before any actual disasters occur. So I didn't think it would be too unusual, in a land of magic, for the Earth to basically feel the plague coming or to warn Deidre of her potential death. It wouldn't know for certain, of course, which is why she doesn't mention it to Asra or Muriel. But it was enough to worry her that night to make Muriel promise to keep Asra safe, a promise which I headcanon in part to being why he went to Lucio and ended up in the coliseum. 
> 
> Anyway, we'll probably be back to Asra in the next chapter, as we get closer to the games timeline. Sorry for any mistakes that may crop up, as I didn't take a whole lot of time to edit. I hope you enjoy and stick around for the next chapter. Hopefully it won't take as long!


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